The Illusionist: To New Beginnings and Old Conclusions
by SeydaNeen
Summary: Following the death of the Emperor, Nimileth escapes prison and with it, the shadows darkening her past. But she's a skilled illusionist, a thief, a swindler, and old habits it would seem are hard to kick.
1. Sundas Service

**Chapter one: Sundas Service**

 **Last Seed 3E 426**

The Mid-year sun blazed high and proud above the city of Kvatch. Foxglove and dragon's tongue flourished in the castle gardens, largely in thanks to the previous week's heavy rain. The beech trees swayed softly, flushed with deep verdant hues, as a cool wind drifted over the city walls from the west and rustled through the leaves of the trees lining the cobble stone path to the market place. Nimileth sat on a shaded stone bench beneath the green branches to catch the breeze and dab the sweat from her forehead as she watched the towns-people bustle by. It was a rather unextraordinary afternoon, busy and noisy as it always was when the villagers came to the Middas market.

The Bosmer, only nine years young, sat in content silence, the corners of her mouth turned up into the smallest grin. She closed her eyes. The incoherent chatter, the crunch of feet against the dirt, the jingling septims of coinpurses and exchanges made. She imagined the market place of the Imperial City sounded much the same, but somehow more _luxurious._ It was the capital after all. Who would she be among the busy city-dwellers? A fruit vendor, a pick-pocket, or just another blurred face in the crowd of shoppers? She opened her eyes and gazed at the sea of people. The poor street-vendors without canopies over their stalls had burned pink from the sun bearing down on them. At least no one was selling any fish today.

The head-mistress of the castle had sent the young maid into town hours ago with a simple task: Take 50 gold and bring back vegetables for the evenings shepard's pie and flowers for the vases in the castle's dining room. A simple task though it may seem, Nimileth took her sweet time wandering through the marketplace, her basket over flowing with lavender sprigs and carrots. When she wasn't distracted by the blue-winged butterflies dancing in the warm summer air and speckled mushroom caps shooting out from the cracks of stone beneath her feet, she oohed and ahed over the glittering trinkets and baubles that she would never be able to afford on a castle maid's salary.

Thankful for the refreshing breeze, Nimileth tied her wild orange hair up in a loose bun at the top of her head and rose to her feet. The mistress would be furious, no doubt, but it was these few extra hours wandering outside in the open air that made her time cooped up in the castle bearable. Although the stroll through Kvatch was far from her dreams of the white-walkways in the Imperial City, it sure as oblivion beat the bare, musty servants quarters of the Castle Kvatch. She walked slowly, admiring the flowers of the morning glories creeping their way up the sides of the houses and the grass growing in patches along the street. Winter would come soon enough in a town as bland as Kvatch, and once again everything would become ash-grey, dead, and cold to match her sentiments.

Finally, she had come to the main plaza and drawbridge leading to the Castle courtyard. She looked around for No-shoe Neville, an old Nord beggar who loitered about near the bridge on Middas to escape the bustle of the marketplace. Whenever she had left-over coin, Nimileth offered It to the poor man and in return, he would pick through the towns-peoples gardens for pretty flowers or animal bones. She liked both equally as much.

A loud snicker drew her attention to the right, where she saw No-shoe Neville sat huddled against the plaza wall with his eyes squeezed shut as a rail-thin boy with messy blonde hair stood above him laughing. Nimileth ground her teeth as the scene unplayed before her. In one hand, the boy held the handle of a metal pail and in the other, a ladle which he used repeatedly to dump water over the beggar's body. She looked around at the other men and women walking by. Why was no one stepping in to help the old man? Could no one else see the cruel torment in front of them? Did no one else care? Nimileth felt her stomach burn with more hatred than should exist in a nine-year-olds body and marched herself up to the two with a furious glare.

The young adolescent boy, not more than three years older than her with a thin fuzz of a mustache, looked her up and down and then, finding her presence quite unalarming, proceeded to dump another ladle onto the beggar. He was swimming in a blue cotton shirt that was two sizes too large for him. His skin was oily, marred by acne scars and little red bumps.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" NImileth shrieked and swatted the ladle out of the boy's hands. She reached around him to knock the bucket out of his grip but he held out his arm to fend her off.

"Me? This man needs a bath, look at him," the boy laughed. "I'm just trying to help him cool down."

With her brow furrowed into a heavy glare, Nimileth pulled out an ear of corn from her basket and began swatting the boy on the shoulder as forcefully as her tiny arms would allow.

They boy laughed… at first, but when it became apparent that the girl was not letting up, even when beads of sweat began to form at her temples, his smile slowly faded to a series of sharp winces.

"Ow- crazy elf! Knock it off." His voice cracked with each shout. "I'm not even touching you. Stop it!"

"I will show you mercy this time," the bosmer said said, tucking what was left of the corn back into the basket of vegetables and flower as though sheathing a blade. "but I swear to the Nine, touch that man again and I'll kill you."

"Hmph," he grunted.

Nimileth looked around for Neville, but the beggar must have scurried off during the corn-beating. She curled her lip at the boy and turned to leave but paused when he called out after her.

"You wouldn't do it. You're one of those chapel-going girls with ribbons in their hair and scared of dirt."

Nimileth lunged forward on one foot. The boy instinctively brought his pail up to his chest to shield himself, spilling the water onto the dirt below.

"Scared?" she mocked and raised a carrot threateningly into the air.

"Well, I bet you've never even killed a chicken before," the boy replied crossing his arms over his chest.

Nimileth rolled her eyes. "I have too killed a chicken. Killed one two days ago for lunch even. And why are you following me to chapel?"

"Ma and Pa make me go with them on Sundas. You're always there praying and giving alms like all the other brain-washed fools. The poors gotta help themselves. You're not doing them any good with a handout."

 _What a load of rubbish_ , she thought to herself. The local beggars knew her well enough for her small kindness. It may not be the most legal way of helping, stealing food from the castle larders after feasts to bring to them and fencing off a diamond ring or two, but if she didn't, who would? This boy, with his father's comfy cotton shirt and tight coin purse never had to live on the street. Sometimes a bit of bread and coin for a strong drink was the difference between making it through the night and giving up.

"Every little bit helps," she replied.

"How are you going to help them beggars when you can't even help yourself? Are you going to be a maid for the rest of your life and give all your leftovers to the poor?"

"Better than you who sits there picking your nose."

"Better than you who has no friends."

Nimileth scowled. "You don't have any friends either."

The boy kicked a rock into the small puddle that had formed at his feet. He brushed the sandy-blonde hair out of his eyes and squinted at the small Bosmer.

"Maybe, but at least I have parents."

Nimileth eyes grew wide and she stared blankly at the boy with her nostrils flaring. After ten seconds, she placed the carrot back into her basket and shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm wasting my breath talking to you."

Just as she turned, the boy reached out a leg and stepped on the edge of her dress, causing Nimileth to fall forward to her knees. The flowers in her basket tumbled out onto the dirt. She scooped them up as quickly as she could, but already the market-goers that had arrived, drawn by the commotion and shrieks, were stomping their muddy boots and pressing them flat against the ground. With a loud grunt Nimileth whipped around and lunged at the boy, gripping him by the throat and pressing all her meager weight against him so forcefully that he fell over backward into the puddle of mud. She held him there with her knee pressed into his chest, watching in a mix of awe and violent satisfaction as he squirmed beneath her. The sleeves of her once cream-colored blouse were completely brown as he thrashed her about sending mud flying all around them. The boy managed to pry one of her hands off of his throat, and after the initial shock of being knocked down had warn off, he tried to sit up. This further enraged the young elf, and taking her now free hand, she slammed her palm in to the boys face, once more sending him down into the mud.

"Ah, to be young and in love," came the croaked voice of an old woman watching nearby.

Nimileth looked up in horror to find a crowd had formed around the mud puddle. Fast as she could, she picked up her basket and ran for the nearest alleyway to escape the surrounding horde, leaving behind the mud-cloaked boy and shattered bottles of ground spices.

* * *

In the castle's servant quarters, an investigation was well underway. It was the fifth time in three months that the Countess complained of a run-away locket. Prior searches of the maid's rooms had yielded fruitless results. Whoever made off with the jewelry had either hidden their stash outside their quarters or didn't work as part of the help. Or so it was believed for many weeks until an anonymous source had provided a new bit of detail which re-opened the investigation.

See, the guards had been tipped off that a small orange-haired bosmer had been dropping gold rings and 20-piece septims into the tins of old beggars on the outskirts of town. The informant claimed she saw the young girl drop a few sparkling rings into the hands of a shady man in exchange for coinpurse before strolling toward the castle drawbridge, stopping only to give a few coins to that No-Shoe beggar. No guard had seen such an event transpire, and the captain shrugged off the warning until this morning when the Count's youngest son had reported his decorative cuffs and rings mysteriously went missing in the night. Hearsay wasn't enough to warrant an arrest, not that anyone would question it. Few cared if orphaned servant-girls went missing, and the castle had no shortage of help.

So, the guards set out for the servants quarters in the afternoon, turning over rugs and paintings, chests and drawers. Beneath one of the beds, they found a burlap sack containing several leather-bound books. The ornate letterings along the cover and spine and gold clasps suggested that these were expensive tombs, not ones that could be afforded by any of the kitchen maids. In fact, the guards discovered that they belonged to the Count's library. Of course, no one realized that a few books had gone missing and had they found only stolen books in the young girls quarters, the Count may have even overlooked the crime for the sake of childhood mischief and curiosity. But in the pillow case, the guards had recovered two diamond rings and a ruby necklace from the Countess's jewelry box. The cuffs were nowhere to be seen.

The sun had settled over the Abecean sea, leaving the clear sky a vibrant orange dusk. The busy streets had settled for the evening, and Nimileth had finally returned her basket of slightly muddied vegetables and flowers to the kitchen. Thankfully, the Mistress was not around to see the sad state of the produce it had taken all day to purchase. Hoping to unwind with the next volume of _Mystery of Talara_ before she needed to begin preparing dinner, Nimileth had just entered the servants quarters from the kitchen when she heard the sound of the castle guards armor clinking down the hall. By the sound of their chattering voices, she identified at least four. Guards very infrequently passed through the servants quarters unless it was to pay visit to one of the chamber maidens late in the night after a good bit of drinking, and the sudden presence of so many at once alerted her that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the lingering adrenaline coursing through her body that left her slightly paranoid, but Nimileth decided against continuing down the hall. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping to overhear their discussion when she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. They were talking about _her_.

"A short Bosmer with red hair. Scour the Castle. Savlian, take the South Wing. Nerus the North. Jesan, alert the guards at the main entrance and then check the basement. I'm going to speak with the mistress to find out this little thief's schedule."

The footsteps split up, most travelling away from her but a very clear _thud thud thud_ echoed off the walls coming toward the door she had just entered from. Her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide or an escape. The door was in clear view of the hallway, rendering the kitchen exit impossible. She spotted a small cupboard that held bottles of cheap wine, a barrel of potatoes, and a window. Without second guessing herself, she slid a chair up to the window, pulled herself onto the sill and leapt out to the ground below.

* * *

Nimileth stood in the entrance of the Chapel of Akatosh clutching her left arm while blood trickled down her cheek and dripped to the clean white floor below. Although she came to service every week, the chapel had never seemed so large and intimidating to her as it had in that moment. The pews were all empty save one man silently reading in the front row. The stained-glass faces of the Nine looked down from the windows above her glaring, disappointed. Nimileth lowered her gaze.

A brown-haired imperial in blue robes looked over his shoulder at the small girl who had entered the chapel alone. From across the room, he could see that she was trembling and clutching her arm as though in pain. He quickly shut his book and approached. She shifted in her stance as he came closer, pulling her shoulders in to a defeated cower. She was beaten, with muddied, torn clothes and a bleeding face. The priest clenched his fist. Who could do something to such a young child?

"Hello there," he said, his voice soft and quiet as though speaking any louder might cause her to shatter.

"Hello," She squeaked, not yet looking up at him.

"Are you alright? Your arm looks to be causing you pain."

"I-I've fallen down."

"That's quite a tumble you've taken. May I?"

Nimileth looked up and nodded. The priest had the kindest blue eyes she had ever seen, but she couldn't control the nervous tremors as he knelt down and took hold of her hand. He gently inspected her arm, attempting to roll up the sleeve of her blood-stained blouse, but she winced sharply, and he set it down.

"Do your parents know you're here?" The priest asked. He had seen her before, whether around town or in the chapel, he couldn't quite pin the memory down. The girl shook her head. He glanced up at the window above the doorway. The sun had disappeared completely, and the orange light was now fading to purple. He couldn't send her out alone at such a late hour. "It's good that you've come, but I'm sure they're very worried. They will want you see a healer straight away, I'm sure. Tell me where you live. I will look for them if you want to stay here and rest. It shouldn't take long."

"Is it broken?" the girl asked, ignoring the priest's previous question.

"No, I don't think so, but it looks very badly bruised and some of these cuts are quite deep." The priest waited for the girl to respond to his previous comments. No doubt she was scared. Maybe she thought she would get in trouble, and he doubted that the wounds he saw were due to a simple fall. Met with silence and soft sniffles, he decided to ask again. "Where are your parents?"

"In Aetherius," she finally replied.

"Oh, I see." The priest tried to hide his surprise. Although the girl was dressed in muddy, torn clothes, she didn't look like a typical street urchin. She was well-fed with healthy, tanned skin, not sickly and skeletal like most of the orphans the chapel would pull off the street. The most likely conclusion that he could think of was that she was a servant girl at one of the wealthier estates or even Castle Kvatch, but that idea brought with it more troubling thoughts. She obviously had not acquired such grave injuries from a mere tumble. The priest opened his mouth to speak, wanting to question the girl further on just how she happened to fall down, but he could see from her trembling and low gaze that she was terrified. Someone else was responsible for the young girl's pain and that monster should be reported to the guards as such. The priest, frowned. He knew she would not willingly give up the necessary information for a report.

Come with me," the priest said and led her to the front of the chapel. Nimileth trailed behind, eyeing the stained glass images of the Gods above and lowering her head in shame.

"What's your name, miss?" The priest asked.

"Nim-" she began before stopping herself, wondering if the guards would later ask this priest if he had met her.

"Nirn?"

Nimileth nodded her head. He had misheard her but she was not eager to correct his mistake. The priest stood beside the altar and motioned for the girl to approach.

"Nirn, place your hand on the well and let us say a prayer together."

"Why?" She asked quickly and clutched her arm with her free hand.

"As servants of the faith, let us ask the Divines for mercy and your good health."

"Oh no, I can't. The Nine- I've never asked for their help before."

"They serve their followers as much as we serve the Nine. The relationships we form with the Gods are one of mutual love. They would not want to see you here standing in their house wincing in pain."

Nim looked up at him with glassy eyes. She reached up with her good hand wiped a budding tear away.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't. I shouldn't have come."

She took a few steps away from the priest, nearly toppling herself backwards onto a pew. He reached out to stop her.

"Don't go, please. I-I have seen you here before, haven't I. You come to our service every Sundas."

Nim gave a small nod.

"Then why do you look so frightened now? You must know that the Gods are happy to help such a pious servant."

The nervous expression had returned, and the girl looked up at the stained window. She rubbed her arm and began to cry softly.

"They know," she said and hung her head in shame. Tears slid down her cheek and mixed with the streak of dry blood. She sniffled loudly and wiped the bloody stream across her face.

"Know what?"

"That I'm not worth being helped."

"And why would they think you are not worthy?"

"I-I hurt myself. I have sinned. I alone am responsible for the misfortune that has befallen me. Why would the Gods help such a stupid child?"

"We all make mistakes. You walk in the path of the Nine, do you not?"

The girl paused before nodding. "Imperfectly, but I try. I pray. Every night, I pray and ask them to forgive me,"

This priest raised his eyebrows at her response.

"Forgive you? What could you have done that you must ask for forgiveness?"

"I'm not a good person, that's why the Gods have cursed me with his wretched life."

The priest frowned. "The Gods do not curse children."

"Then what would they have me do with the hand I am given? Spend the rest of my life cleaning and cooking for those who mock the poor and hungry while gorging themselves every night? Watch as they turn up their noses to the beggars outside their home but call themselves gods-fearing men of the faith? Zenithar says to work hard and be rewarded, but I will never have the gold like them to help those in need without being forced to work until I die. I have betrayed him. There is no escape from this life. I want to thank the Gods for giving me all I have but sometimes I get so angry. I get so angry and wish for the pain of others.

I-I know it's not my place to judge them, so why do the Gods let them carry on in such a way? I don't know why they have given some people everything and made them sick with greed while giving other people nothing, not even enough to survive. There's no escape."

The priest listened in silence and then motioned for the girl to sit on the pew behind her. He took a seat beside her and pointed up at the huge windows above them. The Divines smiled down with open hands. By now the sky behind the glass was completely purple and the first few stars had begun to peak out. Nimileth felt guilty for the anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Even in the chapel she could not suppress it.

"Julianos smiles upon your curiosity," The priests voice was quiet and warm as he spoke. "You are wise to question the fairness of the life, but I disagree. No one is bound forever to the hand they hold in the moment."

"I don't see how I can make a difference. I open my heart to Stendarr – protect the weak and give what I can to those in need, but nothing changes. I've been laughed at, called a fool for trying to make better a part of life that seems inescapable. There will always be those with too much and those with too little. I have such evil thoughts in the night, ones that the Divines must frown on me for. So I pray and come to service every Sundas in hopes that they will take these thoughts away. Maybe my hate blinds me to the good that can be done."

The priest reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to offer the young girl.

"Thank you," she whimpered softly and cried into the wrinkled fabric.

"Child, you must listen to your own words. Few have such a pure heart. Dibella smiles down upon you on. You have opened your heart to the Nine, and she has gifted you with more love than you know what to do with. This is all you need to begin the life you wish to live. I wasn't born a priest, you know. My father was a humble farmer, but yet here I am, a Priest of Akatosh. I have dedicated my life to serving the Nine, and I chose every day to let them spread love and light to their followers through me. Let me show you."

Nim watched in awe as blue light radiated from the Priest's hands. He placed them over her arm and she tensed as it grew warm and tingly. Slowly she peeled back the torn sleeve of her blouse to find that pink new skin had grown over the deep gashes that once existed beneath them.

"How did you do that?" She had never seen anyone perform magic before. She had read about it in books, of course, dreamed about what it might appear like many times, but never had she met anyone capable of casting a spell, let alone on her.

"The Divines work through me to help those who walk the path of light."

"Are all priests healers like you?" she asked running her finger over the fresh skin, her eyes wide and round like shiny pearls. She took the Priest's hand in hers and brought her face close to inspect every crease in his palm, poking and prodding to find the source of the blue light that healed her. "I don't want to clean and cook for the rest of my life. How do I become a priest? How do I learn magic to heal people?"

The priest chuckled.

"It's not as difficult as you might think. Keeping faith in the Divines is probably the most difficult part for many. I can teach you if you are willing and dedicated."

"Do you think I could do it?"

"Of course, we are all connected to Aetherius and its magical reserves. Stendarr gave to all mortals on Nirn the ability to wield magic if they so choose. All you need is the time and patience to practice."

"But I mean, do you think I could be a good person. Help people one day, like you? I have nothing to give even to myself. How can I offer anyone help?"

The girl sucked in deeply and wiped her eyes with the back of her palm. Her wide-eyes followed after the priest as he stood to his feet and offered the girl a smile.

"I think this problem can be easily remedied. Come in on Sundas before our sermon and I will show you how we can work with the Nine to aid others in need."

The girl nodded and met him with a toothy grin short of one incisor.

"Are you hungry," he asked. "There is food in the chapel hall."

"I am quite alright, thank you. I will say a prayer now to thank the Gods for meeting you."

The Priest turned toward the stairs leading to the undercroft and chapel hall with an ineffable warmth brewing in his chest. He left to give her privacy and also to retrieve a cup of tea for the young girl. As he sat there waiting for his kettle to whistle, he couldn't stop thinking about what the girl had said.

What tragedy must she have faced to think of herself in such a negative light? The Gods worked in funny ways like that, and even while he carried his tea up to the small bosmer, he felt them working through her to reach him. He was thankful, whatever she had been through, that she turned to the Nine for solace. Too often had he seen lost youth join gangs of thieves or bandits, even turn to daedra worship, in a desperate last attempt to seek the validation and comfort missing from their lives. The priest knew all too well of the allure those alternative life-styles had to offer. The Divines had mercy on him.

Steeping the pouch of tea, he reflected on his position in the chapel. Never before had he felt so invigorated by his duties as simple mortal servant. There was power in words, in healing, in teaching and he thanked Akatosh silently for granting him the opportunity to wield it.

The priest proceeded slowly up the steps, but when he returned to the altar, he found himself staring into an empty chapel. He called out the girl's name and received only echo. Perhaps she had enough for one day, he didn't blame her. Sipping the tea slowly, he realized he hadn't ever told her his own name, and on Sundas, the priest waited by the door for the girl, Nirn, to appear. She didn't show. The next week, he waited outside, scanning the sea of people who bustled by with their baskets and jingling pockets of coin. With each villager that entered, the priest felt his heart sink. She had presented such promise, such devotion to the Nine. Had he said something to turn her away?

The girl never came to the Sundas service again.


	2. Eight Years Later

**Chapter 2: Eight years later**

 **Last Seed 3E 434**

"Have you made a decision?

Nim eyed the wine list up and down in defeat. 75 septims for Tamika? No thank you. Not today, Ma'am. The small Bosmer looked up from the sheet of paper to meet the proprietor's eye and cleared her throat nervously.

"You're not carrying anything of a younger vintage, are you?" she asked. "A Surilie 415 perhaps?"

"No, nothing younger than 399," The blonde Imperial behind the counter looked the young girl up and down and sighed, quite irritated by her lengthy deliberation. She had other patrons to attend to after all, patrons that were much more willing to part with their gold.

"Of course," Nim replied with a forced grin. "What a fine selection."

Nim had returned to the wine list though she was already certain she would leave empty handed and attempted to avoid the feeling of the proprietor's eyes boring into her skull. She glanced up briefly as an older Imperial woman approached the counter.

"Good evening, Augusta. I'll be having the usual, please," she said. Nim watched as the woman side-eye her briefly before returning her attention to the counter to await her drink. Nim looked down at her clothes, suddenly feeling very self-aware. She was dressed in braided sandals, a short tan skirt, and an olive blouse stained with the blood from last weeks deer-hunt. Standing next to the woman in her red, velvet ensemble, Nim felt like she might as well be wearing a burlap sack. She looked around the lobby of the Tiber Septim hotel only to be met with more velvet, silks, and furs. She shrugged her shoulders. She came here for wine not friends.

"Have you read the latest statement from the Legion?" the woman continued, rapping her long nails against the wooden counter in a steady rhythm.

The blonde proprietor, Augusta Callidia, shook her head while pouring the woman a golden colored drink from a crystal decanter.

"It's in the Black Horse Courier. They've officially ruled out the Dark Brotherhood from the assassination of Uriel Septim."

Nim's stomach dropped at the mention of the Emperor's name. Her pointed ears perked up and immediately she had stopped re-reading through the list. A sudden lump lodged itself at the back of her throat.

"Can you imagine that, Augusta?" The woman took a quick sip and waved her arm flippantly through the air. "I mean, what could be worse than the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Necromancers?" Nim replied immediately without looking up from the menu in her hands. Both women turned to her with raised brows. She glanced up to meet their curious stares.

"I beg your pardon?" replied the older Imperial.

"Necromancers are worse than assassins, don't you think? It's one thing to cause death and another to raise it."

The older woman paused and stared pensively at Nim before taking a very long sip of her drink. Augusta was now glaring at the Bosmer with her lips pulled into a long, thin line.

"Why, I suppose you're right. What a ghastly thought," the woman mused. She waved her hand toward the proprietor, motioning for a refill. "Another, Augusta, please. It's been such a long day. As I was saying, we're in for some hard times. With the death of the Emperor-"

"Yes, that does seem to be the consensus now-a-days doesn't it?" Nim hissed as she watched Augusta slowly pour the Cyrodillic Brandy into the older woman's glass. She wasn't sure what compelled her to speak so sharply, perhaps the resurfaced memory of the Emperor's blood on her hands, perhaps the nonchalance of the woman's worries. Nim watched as she sipped her brandy. She was obviously of nobility. When had she ever faced hardship in her life? "As if times haven't been hard enough for the poor and working class for generations. Well I am so glad to hear you finally agree."

The blonde imperial behind the counter gasped at the sharpness of the small Bosmer's tone. The older woman beside Nim shrugged her shoulders, downed her second drink, and patted Nim gently on the shoulder leaving five ten-piece septims on the counter before turning toward the seating area. Nim blushed and opened her mouth to apologize but stopped herself before even a whimper escaped.

"Listen, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to make a purchase? I have other customers to serve," Augusta spat bitterly.

Nim returned the wine list to the counter shook her head softly. She turned away from the proprietor of the Tiber Septim Hotel, walking briskly toward the exit. Stepping aside for the evening guests entering the door, she took a long, deep breath and looked down at the list Methredehl had written out for her. _Eggs – check, oranges- check, cheese-check, sewing thread-check_ everything but the bloody wine. Nim took a quick glance over her shoulder to see Augusta still glaring at her from the reception desk. She didn't want to shop there anyway, she told herself. The wine was dreadfully overpriced.

* * *

Nim kicked a stray rock across the stone path leading towards the Temple District and kept her eyes fixated on her feet. It had already been one year since she left the prison, since she left her past and childhood innocence behind to start anew in the Imperial City, since the day she witnessed a knife being plunged into the Emperor's heart. She shuddered at the memory of his croaking voice and the feel of his wrinkled, papery skin in her palms as he handed her the amulet of kings. It had been one year, but Nim did not think any amount of passing time would make her comfortable discussing what she had seen on that day. No one knew she was there with him, not Methredehl, not her housemates, not Armand, and most certainly not anyone in mages guild. And to think she hadn't even followed up with his dying wishes!

Nim did her best to shake the image from her thoughts, as she tended to do with all burdensome memories, and proceeded through the wooden gates.

 _It's not my fault that he put so much misguided trust into a teenager_ , she huffed. _Why not the blades that were established to guard him?_ _Why does everyone expect so much from me?_

It's not like she had made no attempt to return the amulet Jauffere. On several occasions, she stood in front of the door to Weynon Priory, but each time she reached out for the handle, the image of Uriel Septim's dying body returned to her. No matter how much Baurus had assured her that the Blades took blame for his fatal attack, Nim knew that she was the one at fault. She was the one that stood idle, paralyzed by fear and shock as the assassin drew his blade. At this point, maybe it would be better to tell Armand and pawn off the bloody thing, get it out of her life for good! At last she came to the All-saints Inn where she could spend the remaining 30 septims from her purse on a few bottles of cheap wine before heading home.

"Evening, Nimeleth," said the Redguard publican.

"Fine day to you, Willet. I'll take two bottles of the cheapest wine you have, please."

"Ah, the usual then." Willet nodded and retrieved two bottles of wine from the shelf behind him.

Nim removed four 5-piece septims from her coin purse, placed the bottles in her basket, offered the Redguard one more smile, and left the building. The sky shimmered a faint orange above her. She loved the walk back to the waterfront. The closer to sunset, the better. She'd wander aimlessley through the temple district for hours just to ensure that as she emerged from the city tunnel with the familiar pitter patter of leaking water echoing against the walls behind her, the warm glow of fading sun would greet her from beyond the heavy wooden doors. The bell chimed six times from the light house as she slowly followed the cobblestone toward the dingy cluster of houses along the bank of Lake Rumare.

"Aha, took you long enough! What, did you grow the grapes yourself?" Methredehl looked up from her seat on the bed across the room as Nim closed the door to the tiny shack behind her.

"Actually, I walked all the way to Skingrad to pick them for you," she retorted with a cheeky grin. She set the shopping basket down on the table as she sat on the long bench before it. "Your armor's all laid out. Are you planning on going somewhere tonight?"

"I hear Hamlof Red-Tooth got a new shipment of gold ore. Wouldn't want to miss out on that."

"And who told you about that?" Nim shouted much more loudly than she had intended. "I've been asking Dynari for weeks to keep an eye on Red Diamond Jewelry for me!"

"I have my sources, little Nim. You know that." Methredehl finished her sentence with a coy smile and returned to the book in her lap.

"Hmph."

And by source she meant her lover, no doubt. It annoyed Nim that Armand so blatantly favored Methredehl over all other guild members. Although Nim had always proved herself to be the more capable thief of the two, easily beating her in their initiation competition and fencing thousands more in gold, it was Methredehl that Armand frequently entrusted with the orders for local operations and used as a key informant. On more than one occasion, he even placed her into positions of leadership and had her enacting her own plans in his absence. Nim was young, but she wasn't stupid. She knew of their affair and understood that the dynamic of their relationship as well as the benefits it afforded.

Of course, she wasn't jealous of such a position, considering she never had any interest in the witty Redgaurd herself, and in truth, Methredhel made a fine leader when the doyen was gone. She was happy for her sister Bosmer and believed Armand was genuine in his affection, but that did little to ease her irritation of what was clearly nepotisim. At first, she assumed the difference in treatment was due to age, since Methredhel was in her early twenties and Nim had turned seventeen that spring. Though age could very well have been a factor in explaining why Armand was more inclined to promote her older housemate, in Nim's eyes, she had well proved both her loyalty and prowess as a thief.

 _No use in dwelling on it_ , she thought to herself and with a defeated sigh, reached out for an orange. Methredhel had taken her into the already overcrowded shack when she found out the young Bosmer was living in the abandoned house next door with two homeless middle-aged men. She proved herself a kind-hearted and true friend, and for this, Nim was unerringly grateful. Besides, Nim had higher goals to shoot for. Not that any specific ones came to mind, but one day she'd be living the life of a high roller with no one to answer to. One day, she would be the person others came to begging for help. The first step was probably moving out of the bedroll in Methredhels shack and getting a place of her own.

"Oh I nearly forgot," Methredhel began, swiftly breaking Nim's ambitious fantasy. "Someone came by looking for you this morning. She was dressed in some robes, I think from the Arcane University."

"Hmm, did they give you any idea what for? Did you get a name?"

"No sorry, didn't ask. I was somewhat hungover from the night before, and just wanted the knocking to stop. I think she wanted you to report there. Something about all your recommendations being received."

"Yes, finally!" the young Bosmer shouted with joy. "I've been waiting weeks for this." No doubt Jeanne misplaced her recommendation, Nim thought. The woman couldn't even keep track of her own guild members living a floor below. Bruma was the last of the local chapters she had visited, and Jeanne's negligence would certainly explain the hold up.

"You're not going to abandon us for some haughty spell-casters and their cheap parlor tricks, now are you?" Methredehl asked.

"Hey, I am one of those haughty spell-casters and everyone loves my cheap parlor tricks."

"Yeah, yeah. We've all seen you lighting candles with your fingers before. Bet you make yourself real useful walking around the guild halls at night like an elven torch, don't you?"

"More useful than you are to the guild's coffers, that's for sure. Oh, but don't beat yourself up about it, Methredhel. I know Armand keeps you busy with _other things,_ " Nim said with a sly grin. She winked at her friend who replied by scrunching up her face and sticking out her tongue in the manner that most mature women do.

"Hah hah," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Very funny, Nim. No one has ever made that crack before." Methredehl joined the younger Bosmer at the table and poured herself a glass of wine. "I'm surprised they let you in at all, what with your criminal record and all."

Nim laughed nervously.

"I told you, nobody kept a record of my stay in prison. The jailor was far too busy on the eve of my arrest and no one bothered to verify my identity. I could have told them I was Almalexia herself and no one would have been any wiser. Besides, I wasn't in for anything _serious._ Just a little –"

"Petty theft, right?" Methredhel interrupted with a sly grin, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, we've all heard that one."

"Doesn't mean it's not true," Nim replied with squinted eyes.

"Mhm." Methredhel took a long sip of her wine and raised an eyebrow at Nim who was now focusing very hard on peeling her orange. "So, are you going to go see what those mages want or what?"

"Yes, but it's almost nightfall. They'll probably want to show me around the university grounds and maybe meet a few fellow mages. Who knows how long that will take? I should probably wait until the morning."

"Oh, and what will you do in the meantime? Any plans for the night?"

"Hmm, perhaps I'll head over to Red Diamond Jewelry," Nim began. Methredhel nearly choked on her wine.

"You wouldn't dare."

"And why not? I hear Hamlof Red-Tooth got a new shipment of gold ore."

* * *

NIm awoke early the following morning while all her roommates were sound asleep and softly snoring. She wriggled out of her bedroll and tiptoed over Carwen to grab a fresh pair of brown leggings and a red velvet shirt she had stolen from a rather large house in the Talos plaza. It was of much finer material than anything she would willingly buy for herself. She usually fenced off the items she stole on her nightly excursions, including the beautiful garments and jewels she secretly pined for. She was saving up for a house after all, but just one or two fine articles of clothing would be useful should she ever find herself in a situation where looking like a beggar would be disadvantageous. This, she suspected, was one of those situations as she had quickly been learning the importance of first impressions.

After changing, she slipped outside and made her way through the tunnel passage to the Temple District of the city. The air was thick and gray with the morning fog layer climbing over the city walls from Lake Rumare. Nim stopped by a well to splash her face with the cool water and briefly combed through her wild copper hair in the surface reflection with her fingers.

A pair of iron-clad guards exchanged posts for the morning shift at the nearby gate. They nodded a good-morning nod to which Nim smiled and nodded back. To say she was excited was an understatement. She had spent so much time in the company of thieves, she had no idea how great a learning experience it was to be surrounded by people who knew more about magic than she did. Joining the mages guild was like learning a new language, like learning a whole new culture. The way the scholars spoke, interacted with one another, even the way they dressed was so foreign to the young orphan. Now she certainly respected her fellow thieves in the guild, but they were of a different breed of talented, and Nim was still convinced she was a better thief than all of them. While she loved the rush of a good heist, the determination to master a school of magic, or any given spell for that matter, was an unrivaled challenge. And that was the feeling Nim truly lived for- an honest challenge.

It hadn't been an easy task to acquire all her recommendations and took her nearly all of six months to attain them. Few of the local chapter heads had taken her request seriously upon first meeting her. While it had irritated her to no end, she understood their reactions. Five-foot-three, undernourished, and dressed like a peasant was hardly the appearance one conjured up of an esteemed mage. She looked like a child. Hell, she was a child when she first came to them, but even then, at sixteen-and-a-half years young, she accomplished every task laid out for her. Surprising others with her dedication seemed to be a skill within itself.

At last she stood before the thick stone walls and the tall wooden gate to the Arcane University. Purple flame danced in their braziers, waving back and forth in the soft breeze as though welcoming her in. Nim approached, eager not to disappoint anyone beyond the walls in front of her.

* * *

Raminus Polus sat in the lobby of the archmage's tower trying very hard to keep himself awake. He had, yet again, stayed up far too late reading a rather juicy chapter of _The Real Barenziah_. Unfortunately, he doubted the collection at the university library held the second volume and made a mental note to stop at First Edition for their Loredas book sale. For a brief moment, he thought he heard a knock on the door but attributed the rustle to his sleeplessness or forceful gust of wind. Again, the thump sounded from the door. Raminus, too tired to bother, closed his eyes against the knock.

"Hello?" a small voice peeped through the squeak of the opening door. Raminus opened one eye before fully acknowledging the presence of the young girl and stood to his feet.

"Oh, good day. How may I help you?" The brown-haired imperial responded, trying his best to be professional despite his heavy eyes. The girl looked small in every dimension, even for a Bosmer, and very young. Raminus wondered if she was the daughter of mage in search of her parent, though she held no strong resemblance to anyone he knew personally. He had dealt with this baby-sitting deal plenty of times before and grumbled silently in his head.

"Yes, good day, sir. I am to meet with Master Wizard Raminus Polus about entry into the University."

"Ah," Raminus responded, more surprised than he intended to let on. He had heard about this associate from the mage-gossip flowing through the lobby and living quarters. The last of her recommendations had arrived two days ago, and as usual with new apprentices, it was his duty to greet her.

She was said to be young and very quiet but a surprisingly skilled illusionist. Though it was quite obvious that the girl had received prior training in the magical arts, she insisted that her knowledge of the ways of magic were a fortunate blessing from Julianos. Looking at her large green eyes and round face, Raminus could hardly imagine her wiping out nine zombies in the fiery, fury Erthor had described several months back.

"You must be the associate, Nimileth. Yes, we have received all seven of your recommendations. You've done very well for yourself it seems. As a full-fledged member of the mage's guild, I hereby promote you to the rank of Apprentice."

Raminus wanted to mention something about possibly being the youngest mage to gain entry to the university but realized he had no idea how old the Bosmer truly was. It could very well have been that she was using some heavy illusion magic or an enchantment to hide her age at that very moment. That or she was simply a well-aged elf, but despite his curiosity, Raminus had heard a thing or two about not asking a woman her age.

"That's good of you to say so, Master Wizard. I hope to do much more for the guild as an Apprentice."

"No need for the formality, Nimileth. You can call me Raminus."

"Well then, Raminus, you may call me Nim."

"Short and sweet," he offered the young girl a smile. She didn't smile back. "Ah, I didn't mean it like-"

"No worries," she replied curtly.

Raminus internally palmed himself and walked toward the counter across the room to retrieve a set of robes. He cleared his throat and handed them to Nim.

"Now, before I take you on a tour of the university, please accept these."

Nim accepted the folded robes and held them out in front of her. Her very own set! How her heart soared! Finally, she could look the part of a true mage. Maybe then people would take her seriously upon introductions.

"They are the Robes of the Apprentice. Everyone receives them upon entry. Take a moment to try them on and-oh!"

Raminus tried to look away as fast as possible but the girl had already removed her shirt and was in the process of slipping the robe over her head. He blushed and questioned whether or not to acknowledge what had just happened. He heard her clear her throat as though to signal she was fully robed, but he didn't dare look back at her.

"It looks good right? A little long in the arms, but I can trim it up just fine." The girl gave a little spin. She swayed and watched the robes flow side to side with the movement of her body. "So you were speaking about a tour?" Nim swiped a stray lock of orange hair from her face with no obvious recognition of the prior event, though she had already folded up her clothing and draped them across her arm.

"Ah, yes. Follow me," Raminus replied meekly. He stepped to the side and motioned toward a door across the room. "Let us start outside with the alchemical garden."

Nim followed silently behind the Imperial, attempting to smooth down her hair all the while. Awaiting beyond the door to the University grounds were dozens of mages in blue robes scrambling about the walkway with armfuls of books and huddling in small groups to chatter about their latest experiments and lectures. Nim felt little butterflies floating in her stomach as she imagined herself among the crowds of scholars. They walked by, nodding to Raminus and paying little attention to the small Bosmer, but Nim didn't mind. They all looked so preoccupied, and she wasn't too keen on anymore introductions anyway.

"So, Nim, from where do you hail?" Raminus asked from beside her as he led her across the white cobblestone.

Nim chose to omit the fact that her birth place was unknown to her. Her earliest memories were from an orphanage in Kvatch that, to her knowledge, no longer existed. Perhaps she was born in a nearby Cyrodiilic county. Perhaps she was not. She was here now, and that was truly all that mattered.

"Cyrodiil," she replied. "I've been here my whole life."

"So, you're native like me. Where do you live?"

"The Waterfront. And you?"

"Right here in the University," he said, gesturing toward the open space surrounding them. "Convenient, isn't it?"

Nim nodded with a smile. She imagined the University must have wonderfully lavish dormitories and excitedly awaited the rest of the tour.

"And here we are. This is the Lustratorium gardens. I've been told by several of our chapter-leaders that you have a penchant for alchemy."

"Yes, I love experimenting. It's quite profitable when ingredients are in abundance. It helps when they are free. You'd be surprised."

"Yes, I'm sure it would be," Raminus chuckled. He hadn't met many people who made a living wage off free-lance potion selling, and the girl beside him could not have been too successful if she lived in that dump on the waterfront. "You should find great value in this garden, I hope. Right this way is the Chironasium."

Inside the chironasium, Raminus explained her first task, which was to gather the wood for her very own mages staff. She seemed eager, asking Delmar many questions about the possible enchantments she could choose from before continuing on the tour.

"And these are the mage's living quarters," Raminus continued as they walked along the row of buildings. He made his way inside to show her the common room. "You are free to stay here as long as you please. Many of our mages consider this their permanent residence, but everyone is free to come and go at their convenience."

"Oh, this would be lovely for long visits," Nim said, though Raminus noticed a slight hint of displeasure on her face when scanning the room filled with beds. "Are all these beds typically in use?"

Raminus sympathized with the concern. He too thought personal privacy was vastly undervalued when the living quarters were constructed

"Typically, yes. It does seem to get a bit crowded. The council has been debating the topic of expanding the living quarters. I am certainly in favor of the idea."

"Good on you, Master Wizard. Never underestimate what a good night's sleep can do for one's productivity," Nim said with a playful wave of her finger.

"Indeed, but I suppose you won't be making much use of this space. Don't you live nearby, Nimileth-er Nim?"

"Yes, but I can't stay in the waterfront forever. I've been saving and preparing for a move to Anvil very soon."

"Anvil, really?" Raminus realized that he was very bad at hiding his surprise. "That's quite far from here. Will you be staying in the guild hall?" He remembered that Carahil had written a particularly glowing recommendation for the young elf, and wouldn't be surprised if Nim continued to seek mentorship from the chapter-head given their shared interest in illusion.

"I'm actually buying a house there. Your eyes would pop right out of your head if you knew what kind of deal I scored. Quite suspicious actually… the kind of price that makes you think someone must have died there in a terrible accident."

"Oh?" replied the Master Wizard not quite used to such candid responses.

"Or maybe it's haunted with my luck! Beautiful none-the-less. Plenty of natural lighting, and stone floors to keep the house cool in the summers. Oh, I could host some very classy parties there."

"Er- yes." Raminus noticed that the Bosmer was speaking faster with each sentence.

"Though I must say, the Anvil chapter did solidify my interest in pursuing higher studies. It certainly is a beautiful city."

Hmm, the wizard thought to himself. If such a young individual could manage to buy her own house in a city as nice as Anvil, perhaps the alchemy business was not as hard a way of life as he originally thought.


	3. Thief of Principles

**Chapter 3: A Thief of Principles**

After pausing for several minutes to catch her breath, Nim brought her hands to her chest and cast a stream of blue light over her body. She felt the searing burn on her neck fade to a dull throb and reached down to pull back the torn fabric of her trousers to inspect the cut on her thigh. The gash in her leather pants was damp, sticky with blood from where the Necromancer's dagger had sliced her, but no sign of the wound remained. She stuck her hand through the hole in her trousers and sighed. The rip was beyond repair. _If only there was a spell for stitching fabric back together_ , she mused, but alas, no such incantation existed. At least she had decided against wearing her new mage's robe.

It was just the kind of luck she should have expected to find her first mission plagued by the undead and a cult of necromancers. Raminus had told her that she was to meet with two mages from the University within the cave, but so far she had only come across one unfortunate Khajiit woman. The mage's corpse looked relatively fresh, and although she had fought a zombie deeper within the main chamber, the cave didn't smell of rot. It did now smell of charred flesh. How long had it been since the necromancers invaded? Nim shuddered at the thought of the other mage being turned into a worm thrall, perhaps the one she had killed. And even if it was not her colleague, it was still an innocent victim, once human with a life of their own and possibly a family who missed them dearly. It was undead, but was it sentient? Was it aware of what its existence was reduced to? How long did that process take anyway? What kind of lengthy ritual must be performed? Were potions involved its transformation? Why was she thinking about this anyway?

 _Focus, Nim._ She reminded herself that there could be more awaiting beyond the cavern door. She let one more wave of blue wash over and once she was confident that the burn from the dodged fireball had healed, she slowly cracked open the rickety wood door leading out from the end of Wellspring cave to the island grove.

Once more, her stomach dropped at the sight of a dead fellow mage. A Redguard woman lay lifeless and stiff on the grass directly in front of her. The Necromancers had wiped out everyone and taken over the entire island! Several meters away, Nim spotted a cloaked dunmer woman and just as quickly as she had noticed her, the woman turned to catch sight of the Wood Elf peaking out from behind the cave door. Nim didn't wait for the approaching Necromancer to speak. She shot her fireball as soon as she saw the woman step toward her. The woman's cries as she went up in flame drew the attention of the two nearby Necromancers who shouted her name above the pained shrieks. Nim drew her bow and hit the dunmer right in the stomach, sending the woman crashing to the ground in a mass of screaming, bubbling flesh. The remaining necromancers circled the island with their conjured undead looking for the intruder who now sat clutching a dangerously thin branch in the low canopy of a nearby elm tree with an invisibility spell flickering over her.

 _Hot rat stew!_ She cursed in her head. She really needed to work on extending her magical reserves. It was a bad habit of hers to send out powerful spells in a quick, impulsive burst only to drain herself dry. Aetherius forbid she miss next time!

Nim could hear the grunts of a zombie not far from her tree. She drew her bow and scanned the ground below in search of the other necromancers. One approached the dead body near the cave entrance with hands aflame. She released an arrow, striking the Altmer in the neck. He released a gurgle before collapsing to the floor. Nim could see blood pouring from Altmer's mouth, and let one more arrow fly, this time striking him through the temple and rendering him motionless. The zombie's groans had seemed to vanish along with the lifeforce of its conjurer. Nim slid down the tree and scrambled for cover. Her invisibility spell had faded several minutes ago, and she reckoned she had enough in her for a few strong fireballs.

Nim hated fighting other mages. Put her up against a stocky orc warrior with a warhammer, and at least she knew he was capable of smashing her into a pancake. But a mage, she could never tell how skilled they were from afar or what enchantment they had placed upon themselves. At least she could clash steel with a claymore-wielding six-and-a-half-foot Nord before being cut in half like butter, but if she lobbed a fireball at a mage, she never knew if their reflect charm was strong enough to send it right back at her and boil her insides like tomato soup.

A rattle of bones sent her flying to a nearby bush. She crouched behind the dense shrub and peaked around it to see a skeleton making its way toward her from a clearing that led to the water's edge. Figuring that was the direction in which she'd find the last necromancer, Nim slowly backed away towards the edge of the island. She slid down the steep overhang and landed in shallow water. As quickly and as quietly as she could, she made her way around the perimeter of the island until a beach came into view. Sure enough, the last necromancer was there. He was patrolling a small patch rather nervously, and Nim watched as he conjured another skeleton and sent it up towards where his dead friends lay. Part of her felt a little sorry for the man, who quite obviously was new to this whole necromancing shin dig if he was this frightened and only capable of sending a measly skeleton after an intruder. Of course, she did just kill two of his colleagues. He certainly had reason to be afraid.

Nim crept closer and took her chances as he turned away, sending a large ball of fire crashing into his back. The necromancer shrieked and immediately sent a bolt of lightning towards Nim. She had not expected such a quick reaction and just narrowly missed it hitting her face, dodging just in time for bolt to singe her at the shoulder. The mage ran at her, and she could hear the rattling bones of his skeleton minion approaching swiftly. She knew she had to end this quick before she had two enemies to face at once. The mage cast one more shock spell at her and drew his dagger. Nim momentarily reached for her own before turning quickly and running toward the water. Just as the weak waves of the lake washed over her footsteps in the sand, she vanished. The necromancer stood at the shore clutching his dagger as he scanned the sand for foot prints and any sign of rippling movement in the water. Knowing she could only hold her invisibility spell for a few more seconds, she pulled her bow off her back and sent an arrow straight into the necromancers forehead. Both he and the approaching skeleton tumbled to the sand.

Darting between bushes along the edges of the island to be certain that no more necromancers were left on the island, Nim made her way to the stone chest near the heap of dead necromancers in front of the cave door and retrieved the wood staff. Making her way back to the cave, Nim cast one more backward glance at the dead bodies and frowned. Something didn't feel right about leaving a downed mage among those who killed her. She dragged the Redguard through the cave to where she had found the Khajiit mage and moved them both to the front entrance. Once she made her report to the council, it would be much easier to retrieve their bodies for a proper burial. So long as the rats didn't get to them, that was. Nim frowned. There was no way she would be able to carry them all the way back to the university on her own. It would also not be the easiest thing to explain should a guard catch her hauling a dead body across the city isle. She concluded that a few nibbles here and there was a much preferable alternative to being made into a worm thrall. She left the cave feeling comforted by the thought, if only slightly.

* * *

Nim had just entered Methredhel's shack and slumped onto the floor with a gracious thud when she heard the door squeak open behind her. She released a loud grunt, realizing that the peace and quiet she so longed for would not be granted to her this afternoon.

"Well, well. You've been busy the past two days then? What have you there? You didn't just snatch that up from RIndir's in broad day-light did you?"

Nim rolled onto her side to see Methredhel set her bag of apples on the table. She reached out for her wooden staff and pulled it in towards her

"It's all mine, so don't you dare think about getting handsy with it."

Methredhel held up her hands to show that she posed no threat. She pulled out an apple. "The Gray Fox seeks an audience with you at Helvius Cecia's house in Bruma." She munched quietly, waiting for her friends reply. "You want one?"

"Oh look at the Guildmaster! He's actually _asking_ for my help this time instead of going behind my back."

Methredhel rolled her eyes.

"You're _still_ sour about that? Nim, that was ages ago. You know he had good reason not to tell you about the bust. It all worked out in the end."

"Sure, but It's-

"- _the principle,"_ Methredhel interjected with a playful grin. "Yes, I know very well."

"I've told you. I hate being deceived. But this is progress, I suppose. Maybe word got out to him about my discontent. Good for him."

"Mhm, I'm sure the Gray Fox has nothing better to do than sit around thinking about how not to hurt your feelings. You've never even met him before. Aren't you nervous?"

"Nervous?" Nim repeated in a loud sneer. "He's a thief not a god. What have I to be nervous for?"

"You better watch that tongue of yours, little Nim. Armand tells me the Gray Fox doesn't take kindly to snarky Bosmers with an inflated sense of self-importance."

"Oh please, what will he do? Kick me out?" she laughed. "I've fenced more than any other thief in the city has for years."

"Okay then. Don't listen to me. See what I care. You want this apple?" Methredhel asked again, tossing the apple in the air. Nim propped herself up on her elbow.

"What do you think it's all about?"

"A mission of some sorts, I'd imagine. Probably asked Armand and S'krivva who they thought their best man was, since he specifically asked for you. See?" she smiled at her friend. "You're finally getting the recognition you deserve."

"I guess."

"Well I'm just the messenger so you best go on up to Bruma soon and find out for yourself. Now do you want this apple or not?"

"Yeah, toss it over."

Methredhel swung her arm back to toss the apple, but stopped midway. Her face lit up with a mischievous smile.

"Why don't you float it over?" she suggested.

"Very funny. You know mysticism is not my strong suit."

"Come on! I want to see it. "

Nim raised her left hand and the burlap sack of apples began to vibrate. She raised it higher and a single apple floated shakily in the air. Very slowly, she pulled her wrist back toward her body. The apple gently floated across the room, not quite in a straight path, until… SPLAT.

"Ack!" Nim shouted as apple flesh sprayed across her face. She looked up at the wall behind her to see the core spread flat against wood panels of the wall. Methredhel roared from her seat.

"Here, let me float this over to you so you can clean up your mess, " she laughed, throwing a cloth at Nim who caught it in midair.

Nim sighed and got to work.

* * *

Though the grey, winter clouds obscured the setting sun, it was well into the evening when Nim arrived in Bruma for her business with the Thieves Guild. Even from the city gate, she could hear the loud laughter of drunk men and women inside Olav's Tap and Tack. Despite the frequency with which she visited the Nordic city, it never ceased to amaze Nim that Olav's Tap and Tack was always occupied. Day or night, snow or shine, thirsty towns-folk gathered at the tables and huddled over their tankards of mead, eager to warm their bellies and escape the cold outside the tavern door if only for a brief few minutes. Nim didn't mind the cold as much as some of the other southerners, so long as there was snow fall. Today it drifted down from the heavens with a dreamlike elegance, melting immediately on contact with one's skin.

When she was just a young girl living in Kvatch, she had only seen one winter cold enough to produce frozen precipitation, but it wasn't a soft graceful snow fall like it was in Bruma. For two days, hard pellets of ice beat down on the house tops. For a few hours the hail would lighten to thin, flat crystal flakes and mingle with dirt and grime in the gutters to produce a black slush. If she remembered correctly, a villager had died that winter from slipping on the ice. He cracked his head on the paving stone after slipping on the steps of his own porch. She looked around at the frosted buildings of the cityscape one last time before entering the tavern. Without the white blankets decorating the roof tops and bare tree branches, everything would simply look dead. She shuddered, suddenly reminded of those barren winters in Kvatch.

Nim removed her cloak and scanned the crowded room for her fence. Squeezing her way past a particularly sweaty, red-faced Nord, she managed to wave down Olav for a beer and make her way towards the table where Ongar the World-Weary sat hovering over his bottle either half asleep or incredibly intoxicated. Most likely both.

"Greetings, old man," Nim said as she took a seat beside him. Ongar didn't stir. Nim stuck her finger in his ear.

"Ah!" The man's eyes shot open. He slammed his hands on the table out of reflex, nearly knocking over both his and Nim's drink. "Oh Nimli. My favorite customer. How'd y'know I'd be n here?" The Nord drunkenly slurred before bringing the bottle to his lips.

"You're here at this time every day, Ongar."

"Well what trinkards have you brought me today? Can you put them in my pocket? I might lose em if you hand them to me."

"How much do you think this would fetch?" She asked, pulling a gold ring out of her pocket. Ongar rolled it in his palm. It was a thick band encrusted with one small diamond and decorated with small engravings. He recognized the Nordic craft and held it up to catch the light of the brazier above before Nim quickly brought his arm down.

"Careful with that," she whispered. "It's fresh."

"Oh?" Ongar replied with raised brows. Nim pointed at the sweaty Nord a few tables away. He hadn't felt a thing as she brushed past him. It was his fault for carrying rings in his pocket anyway.

Nim waited for Ongar's price, but she looked over to see the old man's eyes had glazed over in thought. He was staring somewhere far into the distance, much further than the length of the bar room in which they sat. She took the ring out of his hand cleared her throat. "Maybe tomorrow, hey? I wanted to ask you about something else, actually."

"Ah," he said, returning to Nirn. "Come for a bit'o sagely wisdom? Did I ever tell you why they call me Ongar the World-Weary?"

"Um, yes actually." Five times actually.

"Because I been everywhere, done everything. Left my ma's house in Riften when I was only fifteen. Had nothing but a few hundred septims and a stolen horse. Found my way to Highrock and sailed-"

Nim sighed and nodded along. She chugged her beer and then finished Ongar's while he was distracted making some very enthusiastic hand gestures. Glancing around the room, she found that most everyone was speaking this way, waving their arms high above their heads and out to their sides as though expressing measurement of a large piece of wood. It must be a Nord thing. She looked around for Olav, debating whether to eat something or order another beer, but he seemed rather distracted by a raven-haired woman twirling her hair and necklace around her fingers. She batted her eyelashes at him and leaned in close. Hmm, that didn't seem so hard. Nim had plenty to twirl and plenty lashes to flutter about. Without thinking, she had grabbed a strand of her long orange hair and twirled it around her pointer finger without taking her eyes of the two Nords. The woman placed her hand on Olav and laughed heartily. When the tavern owner turned away briefly, she saw the woman pull her shirt down in the front, revealing a hefty amount of cleavage. Nim looked down at her chest in disappointment.

"And that's how I met my first wife. I tell you, every man ought to do it with someone taller than them. Really changes your perspective."

"Very true, Ongar, very true. I'll keep it in mind for next time. Now about that question I had- the Gray Fox is in town, yeah? What do you know about that?"

"He's here to speak with you, of course. Came in almost two days ago, I think. Follow the road up to Helvius Cecia's shack. Should be there now."

"You must have met him then," she said. Ongar was well into his sixties if not older. Surely he had met this illusive man.

"Me? No, no. Well maybe once in my youth, but I can't be sure. It was so long ago. I was twenty-five, stumbling my back from the bar down some dark alleyway in Stros M'kai to-"

Nim raised an eyebrow at the statement then shook her head.

"Well do you know why he wants to meet with me? Heard any rumors? Methredhel thinks he has a special assignment for me. You know, steal some grand artifact or treasure."

"That's a good guess. Better guess than I've ever had. In fact, my guess was that he wanted to give you some special assignment, steal some grand artifact or -"

With her words clearly going through one ear and out the other, Nim stood up and patted the old fence's back.

"You know what, I think I best make me way over there now. Thanks for the drinks Ongar."

"Anytime Nimilish. Hey… wait, what do you mean thanks-"

The Bosmer had already left the table. Before leaving the Tavern, she tapped Olav on the shoulder and informed him that Ongar would be covering her two beers this evening. Olav waved her off with a nod of agreement. He was quite distracted at the moment.

* * *

Helvius himself was not in the house, choosing instead to stand guard beneath the snow dusting outside. The first floor was empty. Nim proceeded slowly down the steps toward the bedroom, wondering if the guildmaster was already aware of her presence. The floor had yet to creak beneath her feet and she entered as quietly as she could. Silently, she peaked around the wall to spot the tip of the man's shoes. Drawing herself away with a sharp inhale, she felt her heart flutter rapidly in her chest. She stalled before continuing on, reminding herself that there was nothing to fear, not even if he had the grotesque, deformed upper body of a horker. The Gray Fox was mortal. He was but a man with a Daedric mask, and the man that sat beside the fireplace in the room in front of her was likely not even the cowl's original thief. It was just a title passed on like any other, Emperor, Archmage, Guard Captain and the cowl was just a hand-me-down like your older brother's Sundas Best. _Bah_ , she thought to herself. Why did she have to take the fun out of everything?

"Good evening," She spoke up as she approached the seated man. "I'm Nimileth."

"Ah, come take a seat. I must speak with you."

Nim Stared straight at the blue Daedric runes that ran between the man's eyes. Immediately, she sensed something _wrong_ in the Thief in front of her. His icy, blue eyes sagged slightly in the outer corners, leaving him with an incredibly long, saddened gaze. The Gray Fox had begun speaking to her, but she hadn't registered any of his words. Nim couldn't help it. Despite only spending five seconds in his presence, she pitied the man. She simply couldn't take her eyes off the cowl. It was absolutely the most hideous article of clothing she had ever seen.

"I'm sorry- what? I-I didn't catch that," she stuttered, unsure if the Guildmaster had just asked her a question.

"Watch yourself, Shadowfoot! I am the Gray Fox. If you ever want to become a Master Thief in the guild, you had better learn respect." The man's sad eyes were now furrowed and slanted into angry little lines. Nim held in her chuckle as she watched the jowls of the cowl jiggle with each word out of the man's mouth.

"I'm so sorry. I'm just so shocked to finally meet you. What an honor it is." The flattery seemed to please the man.

"Ah, I see," he said with a smile. "Come sit. I have need of your special gifts. There is an item hidden away in a remote monastery. I need you to go get it for me."

"A monastery?"

"Yes, it is called the Temple of the Ancestor Moths. It is where retired, blind Moth priests go to wait out the rest of their days."

Nim tried her best to avoid slowly losing all respect she held for the illusive figure as she took a seat beside him. Really? Who steals from blind priests of all people? Even Nim could recognize that was too deep a shade of messed up.

"I would be honored to help any way I can, oh Guildmaster."

The Gray Fox straightened in his chair at this title and nodded.

"Capital!" He exclaimed, clearly oblivious to the hint of sarcasm dripping from her tone.

"I need you to acquire Savilla's Stone. It is a large crystal with special properties that I need to gain… advantage. Remember do not shed innocent blood. When I receive word that Savilla's Stone is missing, I will be here waiting for you."

"You shall have it soon," Nim said standing up from her seat. The Gray Fox watched as she made her way toward the stairs. Stopping halfway to face him once more, Nim took a final glance at the horrid mask on the man's face. "So this cowl-"

"I do not answer questions about myself, particularly not from a Shadowfoot," The Gray Fox interrupted.

Nim audibly gasped at this. "It wasn't even about you," she huffed before sprinting out of Helvius's house. She slammed the door shut and tied her cloak tight around her neck, grumbling all the while as Helvius approached.

"So.." The Imperial began. Nim looked up with her face tightened into irritated scowl. "You got your task. Everything is alright?"

"Alright? Yeah, he's a right, ugly piece of work, that's what he is," Nim responded. She threw on her hood and briskly walked down the path toward Olav's Tap and Tack. Helvius stood in silence for a few seconds before he watched the small elf turn around and bound up to him with a concerned look on her face. "Oh, actually Helvius, can you not tell him I said that." Nim fished around in her cloak pocket and then pressed a cold metal object into his hand. "Thanks. Shadow hide you," She whispered before turning once again down the street.

Helvius opened his palm to reveal a beautifully crafted diamond ring. He smiled as he turned it over in his palm. He had no intention of mentioning anything to the Gray Fox in the first place, but with an argument like that, how could he say no? It was true what they said about the young girl. She certainly had a way with words.


	4. College Days

**Chapter 4: College Days**

Raminus had heard from Bothiel that Nim arrived at the University early this morning. Under orders of the council, he was to send her on an assignment to Skingrad. The attack on Wellspring Cave had shaken everyone and though he understood the rationale behind the assignment, Raminus found many more reasons to be displeased with the decision. He even offered to take on the task himself only for the Council to refuse. He had sent out in search for her after speaking with Bothiel in the Archmage's lobby, but so far, he had not run into the young Bosmer in the living quarters or the practice rooms. Raminus set out on his morning stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear the unease of his stomach, hopefully enough for him to eat breakfast upon return.

It was a chilly Middas morning, and the breeze blew softly through pines along the City Isle. The sun shone brightly overhead, sparkling in the dew of the grass, and by the time Raminus had made his way back within the University walls, he was feeling much calmer if not a bit cold. Ready to enter the Archmage's Lobby to prepare a cup of tea before breakfast, a soft voice singing amongst the wind caught his ears. It grew louder as he approached the iron-wrought gate separating the public from the inner grounds, and he approached to the edge of the walkway to peer into the Lustratorium Garden.

There he found Nimileth leaning forward on her knees with a calcinator and retort set up on the stone slab of the decorative architecture of garden. She sat in the center of it dressed in her drooping mage's robes and surrounded by ferns and shrubs. Beneath her apparatuses, she had created a small fire with twigs and dry grass to keep them hot enough to steam and boil her ingredients. Taking a deep breath as he fought the sickly feeling rising in his belly back into the depths of his mind, Raminus walked down the steps and approached the Bosmer, who appeared to be working hard at grinding whatever was in the mortar and pestle in front of her.

"Ah, Nimileth. I should have known I would find you here."

Nim looked up from the bubbling retort, and upon spotting Raminus, she sat back on her knees and waved with a large grin.

"Good morning, Master Wizard," she called to him "Were you looking for me?"

"You know we have an alchemical lab on the University grounds. In fact, you're a mere ten feet away from it."

"It's much too clear of a morning to spend inside. Can you believe Spring is only a month away? This garden will be filled with flowers in no time at all. Hyacinth, iris, bloodroot. You can't imagine how much I've missed them."

Raminus appreciated her fondness for vegetation. Realizing he hadn't stopped by the Lustratorium to visit Julienne in ages, he must have forgot how excited some people could be over flowers. Alchemists were a very peculiar breed of people.

"Not a fan of Winter, I assume? Botanists rarely are."

"Well, that would be rather small-minded of me," she replied. "Winter's fine, but it would be better with some more flowers. Maybe a toadstool or shelf fungus or two. Isn't everything?"

"Hmm, I'm more of a mineral man myself," he mused. "Some quartz, the many varieties of beryl. Even a good piece of granite. I used to cut my own gem stones, you know. Had a tumbler and all. Oh and the shale! Sometime you can find fossils in them if you know what to look for." Raminus didn't quite understand what compelled him to say that. Sure he had a collection when he was a boy, but no one needed to know that. Certainly not Nimileth.

Nim laughed heartily at his statement. "Fossils? Good for you, Master Wizard. I like a good piece of basalt every now and then. Rocks are lovely. They're too often overlooked."

"Well, what have you got there?" He asked, eager to change the subject.

"I'm just killing some time before lecture. This," she tapped on the retort with her finger. "should be ready in about five minutes."

"Ah, I forgot to ask sooner. What courses are you taking this Winter? Should you need recommendations for the spring, I'd be happy to give you some ideas. I do advise all the first years, after all."

"Beginners spell-crafting. This week's lesson is on destruction. Can you believe Gaspar Stegine teaches that course? Gaspar Stegine. Every time I walk into the Praxographical Center and see him and Borissean standing there, I feel like my mouth is full of cotton and I forgot all of my Cyrodiilic."

"Yes, indeed I can believe it," Raminus chuckled. Because of its prime location in the heart of the empire, the Arcane University attracted the most talented of mages from across Tamriel. "Borissean and Gaspar trade of lecturing every year or so."

"It's crazy isn't it? Finding yourself among the most powerful sorcerers in all of Cyrodiil," Nim sighed and shook her head before returning to her grinding. "I swear to Stendarr, one day I'm going to make the biggest fool of myself in front of them and hate myself forever."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Nimileth. You're only a Journeyman and for someone of your age, that's quite an accomplishment. I can't remember the last time we had a mage rise so fast within our ranks."

Nim nodded along to his words with a soft smile.

"Thank you, I just- I have so much to learn, you know? Everyday I am reminded how little I understand and it's the greatest motivating force. I'm also taking Auras and the Art of Reflection, because I know so very little about Mysticism, couldn't float an apple out of a sack if I tried, unfortunately." She sounded quite disappointed in that last statement.

Raminus wondered if there was perhaps more to that very specific example.

"Boderi Farano is teaching that, isn't she?"

Nim nodded.

"How do you find of her methods and style?" Raminus had taken the same course those many years ago and he found her terrifying. He hoped, for Nim's sake, that she was easier on the first-years in her old age.

"Oh, she's so wonderful!" Nim exclaimed. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Nim found this an effective teaching style. "So aggressive and loud and terrifying. Is it true she was an imperial battlemage before hired as a lecturer?"

"Well she had been retired for nearly a decade before then, but yes. She was. She trained among experts in Great House Telvanni before moving to Cyrodiil. I believe her Father has a Tel in Morrowind."

"A Tel? Those big mushrooms, right?"

Raminus smiled. "Indeed. Have you ever seen one in person?"

"I've never left Cyrodiil."

"Oh, you must go if you have the chance. They make you feel so small in comparison."

"Well that typically happens to me no matter what."

"Ah, I- um," the wizard stammered. Nim didn't seem bothered, and realizing he didn't know how to respond to that comment anyway, he didn't bother lest he make himself a greater fool.

He watched as Nim blew out the fire beneath her retort and sprinkled the orange powder from her pestle into it. She swirled the glass around and poured it's contents into a brown stone cup.

"How is that potion coming along?"

"Here, have a sip," the elf stood to her feet and offered the cup to Raminus. He eyed the deep purple liquid curiously and brought the cup to his nose. He wafted the steam upward with his fingers and found it produced a pleasant fruity spell.

"Go on. Let me know what you think.

"I'm not about to start glowing or fall to the ground in exhaustion, am I?" He asked playfully.

"There are worse things to fear than poison, Master Wizard."

"Oh? Like what?" He brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. The potion coating his mouth was warm and thick, almost syrupy.

"Perhaps it's a love potion," she shrugged. "I met a girl in Bravil who got slipped one of those and she said it left her thoughts distorted for weeks."

Raminus nearly choked at the thought and extended his arm to hand the cup back to Nim.

"It's not a love potion, Master Wizard," she responded flatly. What kind of alchemist did he think she was?

"Yes, of course. I –" Smacking his lips slightly, he first detected citrus, but the overwhelming taste was… was that blackberry? A tingle spread across his tongue in a peppery zing that caused him to cock his head in pleasant surprise. "Oh my, that's absolutely lovely. What do you call this concoction?"

"Breakfast. Pairs remarkably well with goat cheese on toast or a thick slice of ham," she replied. "I'm thinking about calling it Fire-juice or maybe berry flambe," she said with a dramatic wave toward the sky. "The title is still pending. When i enter mass production, perhaps i will be more creative."

"Fire… juice?" Suddenly the zing on his tongue made sense. "Fire salts with breakfast? I never would have imagined that would combine so nicely with blackberries. The orange was a nice touch, not too overpowering. Great work, Nim." He helped himself to another mouthful.

"Yes, the blackberries and the orange combine for a basic restore fatigue, something most everyone needs in the morning. But as a mage, I think we ought to get the magicka flowing as soon as possible. Thus I add the fire salts to further draw out the restorative properties in the blackberries. And they add a nice zing, don't they?"

"Wonderful zing." So wonderful that Raminus had decided he was not going to hand the cup back, even though he saw her eyeing it. An idea suddenly popped into his head "In fact, would you care to join me for breakfast so I might try this with food as you suggested? As long as you have time before class, of course."

"Oh, it would be my pleasure," Nim replied excitedly. "Let me just gather my things."

* * *

"A book?"

"Yes, I'd like you to retrieve it," Raminus repeated. Nim stabbed a small potato with her fork and squinted her eyes at the wizard from across the table, unconvinced. The lobby had emptied as the mage's made their way to the lecture hall or study rooms to begin their day of work.

"But how is this book related to the Necromancer attack on the Wellspring Cave?"

"Er- yes it details the history of necromancer cults in Cyrodiil and the surrounding provinces. We're wondering if the group of necromancers we are currently working against, the ones who attacked the cave, may have some tie to these historic cults."

"I see," Nim replied through narrowed eyes making no attempt to hide her suspicion.

Raminus sat silently as she held eye contact. A low rumble sounded from the depths of his belly. He managed a few bites of toast before the gnawing guilt bubbled up once more as he began to relay the task to her. The young Journeyman was far more inquisitive than he had prepared for. He found himself fidgeting with his hands while waiting for the Bosmer to speak and shoved them into his pockets to keep them still.

"Forgive me if I am speaking out of place, I just believe that we should be taking a more proactive approach. They have already murdered mages on the guilds own property."

"I understand your concern, Nimileth. I know it seems a trivial task but still, the task needs to be done. You are one of the few available to do it while the rest of the Council continues its investigation on the occurrence you reported at Wellspring Cave."

"If you say so, Master Wizard. I will leave for Skingrad first thing in the morning. For now I think I should be getting to class." She stood up from the table and carried her plate over to the wash basin on the other side of the room.

"Thank you, Nim. And please, it's Raminus."

Nim nodded and grabbed her pack, slinging it loosely over one shoulder.

"Yes, good day Raminus."

"Take care," He called after her as she left for the Praxographical Center. He watched as Nim shut the door softly behind her, giving him one last small grin before leaving him standing alone in the lobby. His stomach turned, this time not with hunger but with a gnawing guilt about the task he had just assigned her to. Slowly he sipped down the last of his Fire-Juice. She had every reason to doubt him.

* * *

 _Blink._ Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker. Vigge the Cautious, from the Skingrad Chapter, had told her that Gaspar was among the best sorcerers in all of Cyrodill along with Borissean. _Blink._ Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker. Nim still couldn't believe that he was teaching her lecture every Middas.

"Alright, everyone," The old Breton clapped his hands. "We have fifteen minutes left of class. Let's see what you've made. I want everyone to step forward and, without explaining the effects you chose, tell us when your spell would be most effective in combat. After you demonstrate on the practice dummy, we will try to deduce the effect." He pointed toward the end of the room where a wooden mannequin stood wearing a beat-up leather cuirass. "Pria, why don't you demonstrate first?"

Pria, a small Breton with curly blonde hair, stepped forward and cleared her throat. She was another first-year student that had arrived at the University from High Rock. Nim had sat beside her in Boderi Farano's lecture several times but the two had only spoken once when she asked for a spare quill.

"I've um, made a short-range spell most useful in close combat within a confined area," she said while wringing her hands.

Gaspar offered the nervous girl a kind smile. "Go ahead and direct the spell toward the dummy."

The students in crowded near the mannequin at the end of the room to watch. Pria approached the dummy slowly and set a hand on the wooden arm. A small spark of light jumped from her fingers and sizzled out in a mere second. Pria blushed a violent shade of red.

"Useful in a crowded marketplace when the shopper behind you is breathing down your neck, perhaps," he said with a finger pointed in the air. "But that wasn't the intention, was it?"

The room filled with soft laughter, and Pria shook her head.

"The only way this would cause any damage in a fight is if your target were soaking wet. What are some ways we can make this spell more effective without increasing the magnitude?" Gaspar asked, directing the question to the cluster of students. "Anyone?"

Nim's hand spasmed upward, but she quickly brought it down. She knew her destruction magic almost as well as her Illusion, but what if she said something wrong? She certainly didn't want to look as silly as Pria did. Poor girl. At least her mysticism was half decent.

Nim looked up to see the tall Argonian beside her raise his hand. She had never heard him speak before. Gaspar pointed at him, motioning for him to answer.

"Couple the spell with a weakness to shock."

 _I knew that,_ she mumbled in her head. _Oh yeah, well why didn't you say it, idiot?_

"Good, Chee-Tul. Why don't you show us your spell now?"

Chee-Tul nodded and stepped forward.

"This spell is most useful when attacking from afar, perhaps for a scout or guard defending against bandits or raiders." He released a bright orange stream from his palm, and the armor on the dummy audibly sizzled away, leaving a gaping hole to expose the wood beneath it. Nim had to restrain herself from _oohing_.

"Very impressive work," The Breton sorcerer said with a series of fast nods. He turned to the class. "What do we see here?"

"Fire damage," an imperial spoke up from the back row.

Gaspar smiled and remained silent, waiting for the mage to continue. "Oh, were you finished with that thought?"

"Uh," the man croaked. "I mean, it was obviously a fire spell."

"Oh, was it really? I had no idea."

The class chuckled, and the Imperial mage shifted in his stance.

"Why don't you look closer and tell me what you notice."

The imperial walked toward the mannequin and squinted. "I see… scorch marks and- um. The leather is burned where the fireball made impact."

"I would take a closer look at that," Gaspar suggested.

Without thinking to ask, Nim approached the dummy. The imperial mage stared at her with a shriveled nose as she twisted herself around him and ran a finger around the edge of the hole in the cuirass. The edges were warped by odd ripples rather than melted away by flame, while the wooden torso was burned black in the center. She raised her hand but didn't actually wait to be called on before speaking out.

"The fire itself didn't to melt through the leather. Chee-Tul coupled the fire damage with a spell to disintegrate armor."

"Exactly," Gaspar said, snapping and pointing a finger at Nim who nearly swooned off her feet. "Let me propose a situation. What if you were fighting a battlemage who had enchanted their armor with a dispel charm? That would certainly be bad for you. What could you do then?"

"You could stack the spell with weakness to magic," Nim blurted out. "This would not only counteract the dispel charm but also increase the damage done by the other two effects."

"Very good, Nimileth. Let's see your spell now."

Nim stepped forward and faced the class, avoiding eye contact with the Imperial mage who had returned to the crowd and was now glaring at her.

"This is a long-range spell that can be used discretely to gain a swift advantage over a single target in battle without drawing much attention to yourself."

"I like the specificity," the Breton said.

She raised her right arm and gave her hand a small spin towards the end of the room. A faint green orb mingled with red wisps of light enveloped the wooden mannequin. The dummy itself remained physically unchanged. Gaspar smiled at Nim and nodded his head in approval. Mumbled whispers broke out among the class.

"Nothing happened," a voice spoke up.

"If you believe that, why don't you let Nimileth demonstrate on you?" Gaspar turned to Nim and motioned her toward the student who suddenly grew very stiff and bug-eyed. Nim nervously chuckled.

"I'd rather not, Sir."

"What destruction spell did we just observe?"

The class was silent.

"Frost, Fire? No, what else could it be."

"Damage health?" Another mage asked

"Yes! Now, did anyone catch the second effect?"

Nim stood awkwardly in the center of the room across from the rest of the class as Gaspar paced up and down with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Give them a hint, Nimileth. What school of magic was it in?"

"Illusion."

"Paralyze," Chee-Tul called out immediately.

"Correct, Chee-Tul." Gaspar walked to the near wall and peeked out the window. The sun was just reaching it's zenith. "Unfortunately, that's all the time we have for today. Those of you who did not perform their spell today will be first to present for next week's demonstration. Remember, we're moving into the chapter on alteration, so come prepared with questions."

The students began to pack up their work benches and chat amongst themselves. Nim walked back to her bench to retrieve her bag feeling a content smile beginning to creep across her face. She could tell that some of the other students were staring at her. For a Journeyman, it was a pretty good spell, but for a Magician, a Warlock? Well Nim was happy that most of her classmates were first-year University students like her otherwise she'd be laughed out of the Praxographical Center.

"And watch out for these two, class," Gaspar called out with a mischievous grin pointing out Nim and Chee-Tul as they gathered their belongings. "It's always the unsuspecting ones."

Nim cracked a stupid, wide grin and felt her cheeks flush warm, as she watched the Master Wizard ascend the stairs and disappear behind the door. Gaspar Stegine, master spellmaker.


	5. Ulterior Motives

**Chapter 5: Ulterior Motives**

Nim did not rest easily in the crowded room. She could not believe that for all its selectivity and reputation of grandeur that the University kept its mages housed in such close quarters like livestock. Hmph, even the Bravil chapter had enough rooms to house all its members individually! NIm pulled her blanket over her head and rolled over to face the wall, not wanting to wake up and find anyone staring at her or find herself staring into anyone elses snoring mouth. She eagerly left before sunrise, only stopping at the Wawnet Inn once she had left the city isle to refill her canteen and purchase a bag of dried fruit for her journey.

The clouds hung low in a dense blanket of gray above. Nim pulled the hood of her robes up after the first drop of rain hit her nose. Even after several hours had passed, the sun had not broken through the clouds. She had cut off the road some time ago, distracted by the bold yellows and red of the cinnabar and emmetic russula fungi growing on and around the fallen trees. The dense forest, with no sun to penetrate its thick green canopy, left ones vision obscured in dark shadow. Nim cast a faint starlight spell and continued through the fields of flax. Emerging from the forest edge, Nim could see Castle Skingrad standing proudly on the hill above the city.

Nim made her way down the hill and into the city. She stuck close to the side of the buildings and looked over her shoulder frequently after finding herself accosted by a strange bosmer with the most terrible haircut within her first five minutes in the city. Before entering the castle's grand hall, Nim retrieved her mages robes from her pack and slipped them over her slightly damp clothing. Now she looked ready for business.

"Excuse me," she called out after a brown-haired steward in fine green clothing.

"Yes?" the man responded with his nose held so high in the air that looking down at Nim seemed to strain his eyes. His lips curled downward into a slight frown. Nim had found this expression, along with the hint of smugness in his nasally voice, to be commonplace among the aristocracy she encountered growing up. She held her judgment in, no doubt he was judging her equally as hard, and tried very hard to remember the greeting she had practiced while walking across the long stone bridge that led to the Castle Skingrad.

"My name is Nimileth. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

The man seemed almost to recoil at Nim's words. She clenched a fist hidden in the sleeve of her robes and swallowed her desire flick the man at the tip of his rather long nose.

"Mercator Hosidus, steward to Count Hassildor."

"Ah, I'm here to speak with Count Hassildor on behalf of the mages guild."

"The mages guild you say?" The man scoffed. "The Count is quite aware of your presence and simply has no interest in granting you an audience at this time." He gave her a quick glance from head to toe. "Now that I've seen you myself, I can't say that I blame him."

Nim sighed and rolled her eyes out of sheer habit before realizing that if anyone was to be the bigger person in this scenario, it would have to be her. As silly as the task seemed to her, she knew to be polite when acting on behalf of the guild.

"I'm sorry, there must be some misunderstanding. If the Count will not meet with me today, I suppose I will return sometime the following week." Nim shuddered internally at the thought of returning to Skingrad and skirting the edge of the town to avoid that feather-duster Bosmer this evening, let alone next week.

"Hmph. I shall endeavor to change his mind on this subject, nevertheless. Return tomorrow and perhaps he will see you then."

"Splendid. Thank you, Mercator," she replied with a bubbly grin though internally she was thinking something more along the lines of _Not so hard was it, you bloody oaf_ "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"We shall see," came Mercator's flat reply.

Nim bounded toward the exit, quite content with herself. She paused before opening the door, thinking to once more thank the steward for being so helpful, despite the aloof attitude, and turned to wave when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mercator had not moved an inch from where she had last seen him. There were a few meters between them, but even then she could see he was scowling at her. She turned to face him full-on, which he responded to with an unchanging expression. Nim stood there as still as he was with a blank stare as she watched him watching her. The guard beside the door cleared his throat to indicate that she was blocking the exit for another leaving visitor. Nim stepped to the side and popped on a cheery smile. She gave an exaggerated wave to Mercator and turned once more toward the exit. The guard eyed her curiously.

"What's his deal?" she asked the guard.

He responded with a shrug.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Nim returned early the next morning only to find that visitors were not yet allowed into the hall. The clouds from yesterday had cleared to bright blue sky, though the morning on the hill was greeted with a chilly breeze. She wrapped her cloak around her head and huddled beside a torch stone. Irritated and growing inexplicably unnerved with each passing minute she had to spend in Skingrad, Nim approached one of the castle guards at the door. Putting on her most winning smile and flattering charm spell, she chatted up the unsuspecting man, bombarding him with a string of corny jokes, batted eyelashes, and a few gentle caresses along his armored bicep just as she had seen that raven-haired Nord do to Olav for a free beer. After a few minutes of flirtatious laughter and ogling, Nim succeeded in being let into the grand hall a whole hour and a half early though she had to deny the guards request for a lunch date, claiming that she was here on business after all.

Mercator was no where to be seen, in fact the hall was empty. Not even the braziers were lit. She took a seat at nearby table and took it upon herself to light the candles set out on a silver tray. She drew a book, _Mysticism,_ from her pack that she had borrowed from the shelves of the Skingrad mages guild. She hadn't thought to ask anyone if it was okay. She hadn't really thought to return it either.

"You, Bosmer," She heard Mercator call out from a distance. Looking up from her book, she watched as he descended the staircase and approach her. She stood to greet him with a small bow.

"Good mor-" Nim began before Mercator cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"The count has agreed to meet you, but not here. He wishes to meet you north of the Cursed Mine outside of town after 2:00 AM."

"2:00 AM?" Nim couldn't contain her confusion. Why such a discrete meeting place to hand over a dumb book?

"It would be wise of you to be on time," Mercator sneered.

"Follow the road west out of Skingrad, through-."

"Yes, I can navigate myself, thank you," and without waiting for another word from the snotty Imperial, Nim turned to leave. Something was certainly not right with this task, but she had over half the day to figure out how to approach it. She planned make her way back to the guild hall and return the book she borrowed, before she heard her belly release a low rumble. With time to spare before her meeting with the Count, she figured she could squeeze in a brief lunch date. Who was she to deny a meal on someone else's dime?

* * *

At 1:00 AM, Nim woke up from her brief nap and packed her bag for departure. She carefully tucked away the address the guard had scribbled down for her into the pocket of her leggings. His name was Larrius and he sported a soft, young face with pale green eyes beneath his helmet. He spent his holidays in Bruma with his mother, sister, and two dogs. A normal man with an endearing sense of humor, Larrius had been fine company for the two hours they spent eating cheese, drinking beer, and chatting at the bar of the Two-Sister's lodge. She kissed him goodbye before he returned for evening rounds, promising him that she would write when she returned home, and maybe if she was the kind of woman that had time for normal guys, she would. When she was a younger girl, Nim had dreams of joining a pirate crew living off spiced wine and having a lover in every port, but of course, that was just the romantic in her. Keeping up on that many people seemed dreadfully boring to her now.

Nim trekked through the vineyards on her way to the meeting point under a cloak of invisibility. The spell was still relatively new to her and in casting it, she found that she could either maintain full coverage for ten seconds or blink in and out of visibility for about 30 seconds. She practiced extending the spell as long for as could as she moved through the soft breeze, flickering beneath the silver light of glowing moons. She paused briefly to allow her magicka to replenish, the memory of the wellspring cave incident still fresh in her mind. Mercator clearly thought her a fool, and she had half a mind to laugh in his face when he proposed the plan for the rendezvous. No Count would meet a lowly Journeyman outside the city walls past midnight. Nim didn't need to be of nobility to know that was not standard procedure. Darting behind boulders, bushes, and trees, Nim scouted out the area of the meeting for any signs of life with a detect spell. The overwhelming sense of danger lied in the clearing beyond.

Cursing her lack of skill in mysticism, Nim squinted through the darkness. She could make out two dark figures in the distance with a third trailing behind as they approached the meeting spot. Nim drew her bow, immediately recognizing the hooded robes of a necromancer adorning the two figures that now stood idle. Mercator stood among them, scanning the rolls of grassy hills, no doubt, for Nim. A trap! And Necromancers at that! The guild must think her to be the new exterminator. She frowned, knowing that she would now have to kill all three of them when all she came for was a book that probably never existed in the first place.

Just as she could feel her invisibility spell wearing off, Nim released an arrow straight into the nearest necromancer's head. He crumpled to the floor with a terrible grunt and spasmed amongst the dirt as Nim raced behind a boulder to cast another invisibility spell. The necromancers, however, had already seen her hiding spot and approached the rock swiftly, throwing bolts of lightning toward it that crashed against the stone. One caught Nim's arm and she choked back a silent wince as the magic burned a dark scar across her bicep.

With newfound adrenaline to fuel her, Nim was on the move, keeping low in the tall waving grass. She let another arrow fly, this time toward Mercator. The draw on the bow was weakened by the burning in injured her arm, and the arrow missed, piercing him lower than she had hoped. It stuck him in his right leg, and though it didn't kill him, he was now hobbling in excruciating pain. The last Necromancer was a second too late in locating her and upon turning toward the grass, was met with a large fireball to the face and another to the belly. He stumbled backward releasing a final string of gurgled screams before falling dead against the boulder.

Mercator was hobbling away and Nim followed after him with her bow drawn. She stuck him again, this time in the back of his left thigh which brought him crawling to the ground. Nim walked faster to catch up with him and gripped the shaft of the arrow. Mercator looked over his shoulder to face his assailant. Tears mingled with dirt, streamed down his face.

"You sad little man. What are you playing at?"

"Bitch," he spat. Saliva and blood dribbled onto his chin. "You were supposed to be an easy kill. Just a weak new pet from the Mage's guild."

Nim twisted the arrow in her hand, driving it further in to the steward's leg. Mercator howled in agony.

"Where is the Count? Why is he working with necromancers?"

"I- I'm afraid I misled you. The count isn't arriving. He doesn't even know you're here"

"Ugh," Nim released her grip on the arrow and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. She looked down at Mercator whose face had grown pale from loss of blood. She shot a fireball at him and took a seat on a nearby rock to watch as the flame ate away at his flesh until he was only black char vaguely shaped like a man. She cast a healing spell and rolled up her sleeve, watching as the bolt shaped scar sprawling across her arm disappeared beneath a new layer of skin. Nim didn't know what the council had expected of her visit to Skingrad, but it certainly couldn't have been anything this exciting. If there were Necromancers among Skingrad's stewardship, what was stopping them from infiltrating elsewhere in the empire's political seats? Her time spent in the Cheydinhal guild chapter had proven that the mage's guild itself was far from impenetrable.

"You impossible fool!" A loud voice broke through her thoughts. Nim jumped to her feet and faced the direction of the approaching voice with her bow drawn.

"Come no closer or I'll put you out like all of your pathetic friends," she warned. The man continued toward her unphasesd.

"Don't point that in my face unless you intend to shoot it."

Nim took a step closer.

"I have every intention of shooting it unless you tell me who you are."

"Count Janus Hassildor, at your service." Nim noted that the man held the same posture that Mercator had, with his nose stuck straight up into the air as though he were a tracking dog. "A thank you might be in order at this point."

Nim physically recoiled at this statement. "I'll do no such thing. Where were you five minutes ago?"

"Watching, making sure nothing got out of hand. For the life of me, I cannot understand what possessed you to think I would suggest a meeting here of all places. Still your gullibility has served some useful purpose. I knew about Mercator, but not his friends. Now none of them are a threat any longer."

"I was just following my orders. I can't understand what possessed you to employ a necromancer as a steward," she spat.

"I suspected Mercator was involved in their cult," the count snapped and crossed her arms. "I was unwilling to move against him without knowing the identities of his allies."

"A convenient story." Nim squinted her eyes at him and let down her bow. Something about the man's face made her skin crawl. From what she knew of the Count, he was old in age but his skin looked remarkably well _preserved,_ pulled tight over his face and relatively free of wrinkles save the corner of his eyes. He was weathered and pale in the way old paper loses its coloration to sun exposure. She pushed the uneasy feelings aside. "Still, you knew of his involvement and kept your mouth shut. That doesn't make it any better if you ask me."

"Good thing I wasn't asking you," the man sneered. "Despite what your Council may think, I've not thrown in with the Necromancers, and would nor do so. You may pass along that message."

"Sure I will," Nim replied flatly. And so her true task was made clear. She wasn't here to retrieve any important historical text on Necromancer cults as Raminus had so feebly explained. The Council had sent her as a spy, yet failed to provide her with the goal of her actual tasks. Was this their idea of proactive? What a backwards approach! Nim found herself bending the shaft of her arrow, gripping it so tightly her knuckles had turned white, and quickly returned it to her quiver before she snapped it.

"I was sent here to retrieve a book, though I now suspect the existence of such an item is unlikely."

"Bah!" The count exclaimed and shook his head. "Do you really think you were sent here for a book?" he let out a contemptuous scoff. "No, you've been sent here to spy on me. Tell your Council that the next time they want something from me, they come themselves rather than send someone under false pretenses."

This was the first thing the Count had said that Nim agreed with.

"Well if you had listened to my statement, clearly I believe there is no book. Had the Council been honest with me, neither of us would be wasting our time in this field surrounded by dead Necromancers." Nim shook her head in disgust as she looked at the dead bodies surrounding them. What on Nirn had the Council expected to learn from an investigation if the investigator wasn't even was kept in the dark about the entire plan? She looked up at Janus who was wearing the same haughty glare he approached with. Nim couldn't help but notice that the Count seemed to neither blink nor breathe as he watched intently for her next move. She was angry, but not at the Count as much as the Council. As much as it pained her, she knew what had to be done to clean up the mess that had been made in her brief time here. She smoothed her hair over-head and released an irritated sigh.

"Count Hassildor, I apologize on behalf of the Mage's Guild. This whole ordeal has been quite embarrassing. I'll take me leave soon and hope you believe me when I say I had no idea of their intention."

The Count dropped his shoulders and released his crossed arms to his side. He looked slightly surprised, though still displeased.

"Yes, I see that now. I regret that Traven has involved you this way. At least you've survived… for now. Now our business here is concluded. I suggest you return to your Council."

Nim nodded her head to the Count as he walked past her.

"Oh, Apprentice," He called out, turning briefly to face her. "That was quite a show you put on. Good to see someone new in the guild mays actually have a spine."

"Er, thank you," she squeaked out, not quite believing the words leaving his mouth to be genuine.

"Perhaps in the future you can be trusted to deal with more serious matters."

And with that the Count wandered off into the night leaving Nim to process the truth of the Council's deception alone under the twinkling sky. Alone and with a few burnt corpses.

* * *

Having spent an extra day away to wander through the West Weald clearing her mind, Nim returned to the Gold Road and shook with rage all the way back to the Imperial city. She hated being used like this. The Grey Fox had done it numerous times, but he was a thief. If anything, she had come to expect it from him, not that it made her anymore comfortable with the fact. She had trusted Raminus from the start. He was exactly the kind of person she was hoping to meet upon joining the Mages guild, someone learned and seasoned by practice. A valuable teacher and leader not yet consumed by the desire for power that so many in authority possessed. But this, she couldn't help but think, was a dirty betrayal.

Raminus was sitting in the lobby of the arch mage's tower with a copy of _On Oblivion_. He was now rereading the same passage for the fifth time, unable to shake the gut-wrenching feeling that he had placed the young Journeyman in grave danger. She had left for Skingrad four days ago to complete a task that should have only been a brief meeting with the Count. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud gust of wind entering the room as the door leading in from the courtyard opened and banged against the wall. A small cloaked figure stood in the doorway for a brief moment before marching in with an alarming amount of purpose.

Raminus stood to greet the young Bosmer. She met him at the center of the room and shook droplets of water from her bangs to the floor before shooting him a sharp, squinted glare.

"You set me up," she said, her voice ripe with contempt.

"Nim, what happened in Skingrad?"

"You know, Master Wizard, I joined the mages guild hoping to learn more about magic, but so far all I've learned is how better to fight necromancers. You should have told me your true plans instead of making me out to be a fool in front of the Count! I'd rather be an errand boy than a puppet."

"Necromancers?" Raminus' eyes scanned the Bosmer for any indication of injury. He certainly hadn't expected her to actually run into any on her mission. "Oh my. Nimileth, please tell me-"

"I don't see what more can be said. I've been lied to and for good reason or for wrong it matters little to me. I could have been killed, and had I known what I was walking into, I would have prepared. This is a terrible way to treat your mages, and honestly, I am appalled that you of all people, Raminus, would take to such unprofessional measures." Nim jabbed her finger at him before crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wanted to warn you, Nimileth, but the council thought it would jeopardize the mission."

"So, you just follow blindly whatever the council says? If they said walk me off a cliff, you would do it? Because that is almost what happened in Skingrad."

"I don't quite understand. Surely that's an unfair comparison. Why don't you tell me what happened with the Count?"

"Unfair? I was ambushed by three Necromancers while trying to retrieve this non-existent book. The steward lured me into a trap under the guise of a meeting with the Count. He's not a fool either, you know, and was quite displeased with the turn of events. He is not associated with the necromancer's in anyway and asked me to relay his disapproval of the Council's methods."

"Three necromancers? I-I must apologize," Raminus stuttered. Nim could see his concern was genuine but it did little to ease her irritation. What good did an apology do for her now? The necromancers were already being picked apart by rats and crows, they certainly weren't going to be resurrected by an apology. "It was never the Council's intention to put you in harm's way. Traven thought that sending a high-ranking official to meet with the Count would draw to much attention and send any nearby Necromancers into hiding."

"Ah so I'm to be sent in as bait, then? That doesn't explain why you had to keep me in the dark. When I went to Anvil for my recommendation, Carahil entrusted me with full knowledge of a very sensitive mission not five minutes after meeting me. Five minutes, Raminus. We were practically strangers, but she showed greater trust in me than you or the council have, and I did no such thing to harm the integrity of the mission."

"Nimileth, I know you are upset, but with the Count's unique nature, we thought this the most sensitive of missions. Such information was not crucial to your task, thus we chose not to inform you."

Nim's eyes grew wide as she realized what it was about Janus Hassildor's appearance that had left her so unnerved. He must have been a member of the Undead ranks. It explained his lack of autonomous bodily functions and the length of his tenure as Count. Even then, she could understand why the Council wouldn't feel the need to tell her of such a secret. That, however, had nothing to do with the fact that she was lied to about her task.

"Ugh, this isn't about the Count," she groaned. "You must think I'm a fool, Raminus." Nim sighed and shook her head. "Really, I expected more from this guild."

Raminus looked down at his feet as the sting of her words weighed on him. He knew he and the council had wronged her, so why was he still defending them?

"I understand your frustration, believe me. I went through it as well when I joined. Don't you think I know how backwards our council can be? It's the inherent inefficiency of bureaucracy. To often the higher ups lose sight of the most important thing. Nimileth, I am so sorry."

"Hmph." At least he acknowledged it. That in itself gave Nim a dull comfort. She let the anger fall from her face though it raged in the pit of her belly like strong rum.

"We feared of Hassildor's involvement with the Necromancers. Thanks to your involvement, we can rest assured he is not. You have my word that we will make no further attempts to mislead you. You have done your job admirably and I thank you for it." Eager to change topics, Raminus straightened his back and cleared his throat. He smiled at Nim, who was now staring at him with an unnervingly blank expression. "Your service to the guild has not gone unnoticed. If you would like, we can speak about an advancement in your rank and the opportunities for new projects to work on."

"Not now, Raminus. Thank you, but I need to be… somewhere else." She quickly drew the hood of her cloak over her head and began tying the strings at her chest into a tight bow.

"Er-of course, until next-"

He ended his sentence just short of speaking alone to the empty space around him. Raminus watched as she turned to flee the room, vanishing into the air before she had even opened the door. He sat down on the bench and ran his hands through his hair playing over the last ten minutes again and again in his head. It didn't need to end the way it did, with Nimileth fighting Necromancers alone and now upset with both him and the Council. It shouldn't have began the way it did in the first place, on lies and deceit. She was right, they had used her and everyone on the Council aside from Raminus hadn't given her safety as much of an afterthought. He cursed his inability to stand up to the Council and left for the living quarters. Popping open a bottle of mead, Raminus conceded that he had never met another mage that made him feel like such a fool beside himself.


	6. Respect Among Thieves

**Chapter 6: Respect among Thieves**

Malintus Ancrus stood beneath the eaves of his roof soaked down to his socks. He cursed the rain, the sky, and Kynareth herself as the wind blew the downpour into his face. Why hadn't he moved to Anvil when he had the chance? Nice and sunny there with mild Winters and a fresh, salty breeze. He squinted into the rainy night in search of Nimileth, who was to meet the Gray Fox in his home this very evening. In the distance, a large figure obscured by the darkness of Chorrol's unlit streets stumbled drunkenly down the pathway leading to the shacks. Malintus prayed silently that the approaching person was Nim so that this meeting could be adjourned. All he wanted was to return to snuggling Glistel in front of the fireplace and out of the Godsforsaken rain. His heart sank as the figure disappeared into a neighboring shack. As the minutes passed, Malintus found himself growing increasingly agitated at the Gray Fox's insistence that he stand outside and keep watch.

 _Nim knows where I live_ , he told the Master thief. _C_ _an't I just look out the window?_

An unannounced tap on his shoulder caused him to reflexively whip his body in the direction of the oncomer, knocking them into the side of the house with his arm.

"Ouch, Malintus, it's me," the cloaked figure greeted him from beneath her shroud.

"I didn't hear you coming, Nim." He offered a familiar greeting. "You wear the shadows well."

"It's not the shadows, Malintus. You can't hear anything in this bloody storm. Why on Nirn are you standing outside?"

"I was just asking myself the same," he sighed, stepping aside to open the shack door.

As much as she tried to wipe her feet on the pitiful burlap mat in the entry way, Nim couldn't help trailing tracks into the house with her mud caked boots. Inside, the Gray Fox sat beside the fireplace on a rickety chair sipping from a pewter mug. Nim nodded at him and strode in to hang her cloak upon the mantle to dry. Without waiting for or offering a greeting, she took the seat placed in front of him and slipped out of her boots. The Gray Fox watched silently as she stuck her big toe out of the hole in her sock and wriggled it in front of the fire with a satisfied grin on her face.

"Malintus doesn't need to stand outside in the rain still, does he?" She asked and silently prayed to Stendarr that this was quick business. Finals week at the university rounded the corner and Nim had two classes she desperately needed to study for.

"I have need of your services once more." The Gray Fox set his mug down on the stool beside him and straightened his posture.

Nim frowned.

"Yes, Amusei delivered your message. Could you maybe tone down on the sense of urgency when you send him out looking for me? Amusei seems to think you are condoning breaking into my sleeping quarters which is actually a bit problematic for me." She looked over her shoulder to see a shivering Malintus through the fogged window of the shack. "but that's not an answer to my original-."

"My work with Savilas stone has revealed that I need something special for my plans, a small item that is in possession of a court wizard."

"A wizard?" Her heart fell to her stomach and her widened eyes betrayed her sudden surprise.

"Will you do this for me?" The Gray Fox asked. "I'll pay you well, I assure you."

"Who is this wizard?"

"Pardon?"

"The wizard," She repeated. "Who is currently in possession of the item you want?" The words left her lips with a greater sense of urgency than she had intended to let on. She hoped the man in front of her did not detect it.

"So, you agree then? Capital!"

Nim clenched her fists beneath her seat and blinked in rapid succession. She was speaking Cyrodilic wasn't she? "That's not what I said."

The Gray Fox leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap. "I don't understand how that is the most pertinent question to ask at the moment. You don't want to know about the object?"

"Stealing a gold coin from the pocket of the town drunk is not the same as stealing one from Chancellor Ocato. You're a thief still, aren't you? You want me to do this job, and I want to ask a few questions. There's nothing more for you to dissect." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you going to answer it or not?"

"But you haven't even asked about the object I am asking you to steal. You haven't expressed the slightest curiosity in what I need it for. Since when is the person you steal from more important than the item?" The Gray Fox shook his head very slightly and released an affected sigh. Nim rolled her eyes.

"Why should I care what you wish to do with it? You're hiring me to steal an object, so I need to know who I am stealing from. Simple. This plan of yours is of no importance to me and I am not at liberty to discuss the values of a pickpocket."

"Well it appears I've struck a nerve," he said before taking a loud sip from his mug. "A little frightened of mages, I see?"

"Don't act like you know anything about me, Guild Master."

"A weakness to fire maybe? Small thing like you would go up in flames like tinder."

 _Yeah? And I'd like to see how long it would take a dumb rock like you to sink._ Nim silently cast calm spell and let the tranquility wash over her with a few long breaths.

"Let's return to the task then. What do you want me to steal? Tell me about this great plan of yours."

The Gray Fox was all too eager to begin.

"The item is called the Arrow of Extrication. It has a unique key-shaped head. Savilas Stone has revealed that this arrow will be used to open a locked door. I have been informed that Fathis Aren, the Bravil court wizard, has recently acquired it."

"A court wizard?" she repeated, more to herself than to him. Such a high position among the Cyrodilic ruling class meant he was almost certainly a guild member. If Nim wasn't under her spell, her stomach surely would have been turning.

"Yes, my sources tell me that a secret passage runs from the castle to his own fort southeast of the city."

"A fort, huh. Is he a dunmer?" Nim had read stories of powerful Telvanni mages in Morrowind constructing giant mushroom towers. She wondered if such towers existed across the border.

"Yes he is a Dunmer. Why is that important? Let's not get distracted any more than you already are. You are to locate the Arrow of Extrication and bring it back to me. Fathis Aren may be killed if necessary."

Nim cocked her head as she attempted to digest the man's request. Did he really condone the murder of an innocent just now? She scanned the man's face for any sign of an ill-timed joke, but his sagging eyes stared eagerly into hers as he awaited her answer. She couldn't have heard that last part correctly.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

The Gray Fox groaned. "Is something unclear about what I've said? Find the Arrow of Extrication and bring it to me."

"You just- we only have three rules. Isn't one of them not to kill while on the job?"

"Oh. Yes well… try not to do so in the Castle."

Nim blanched and pulled herself back against her chair to put the greatest amount of distance between herself and the Gray Fox that she could without sprinting out of the room. She watched silently as the man picked up his mug and took a loud, drawn out sip. As she watched the blue runes of the cowl glisten in the orange light of the fire, the space between the two thieves grew heavy with the air of unease she had felt upon their first meeting. Was it this Daedric mask that had corrupted him so? The man was unnatural. He was twisted. He was wrong. And she had to leave his presence immediately.

Nim scrunched her face into a harsh grimace. Not even the calm spell could soothe the bubbling rage building within. The Gray Fox recoiled further back into his chair, certain that the elf in front of him was about to vomit. Her face was still bent into a scowl of disgust as she pulled on her boots. She stood to her feet, eager to leave the shack, and reached for her cloak.

"I resent being summoned here," she spat

The Gray Fox chuckled. "What you resent is of no importance to me. My spy network will tell me when you have the arrow. Bring it here when you are done."

A thick branch rapped against the roof of the shack with a loud thud thud as the rain hit the window with such force that Nim was certain it would crack. She fastened the clasp of her cloak around her and opened the door of the shack for a sheet of hard, cool rain to greet her face. Winter was very resistant to give in to Spring.

* * *

It was early in the morning, with several hours before daylight, when Nim returned to the City Isle bridge from Chorrol. She slipped silently into Mehthredhel's shack and hung her soaked clothes to dry before the crackling embers. The rain did little to quench the anger she carried on her travel back, but she knew that she needed to rest before hitting the books come sun up. It was Tirdas. She had at least a week before her first exam. Nim shimmied into her bedroll on the crowded floor and decided to push her troubles out of her mind for just a few hours until Mehtredhel awoke. Then the two of them would stroll on down to The Bloated Float for a late Brunch of Beer and Sweetrolls where she would be free to unleash a few of her colorful opinions about the man in the daedric cowl

* * *

"I hate him. No, I _loathe_ him"

"Don't say that, Nim."

"You haven't met the man yet, Methredhel." She took a long swig from the brown bottle she was passing between her palms. "And trust me, you don't want to. He's foul."

"That's just the mead talking."

"Oh sweetheart, you don't want hear the things I'll say about him when the mead starts talking."

Methredhel placed a hand over the back of her friends palm and opened her mouth to respond when she heard the loud creak of the Bloated Float's door. Armand Christophe stood in the doorway scanning the room. He settled his sights on the far table where the pair of elves sat snickering.

"Maybe hold that thought for another round," Methredhel dropped her voice to a low hush and nudged her friend. She motioned toward the door with a nod. "He does not look very pleased."

"Then maybe you should put out more," Nim said with a sly chuckle and stood to her feet to greet the approaching doyen.

"Oh, I can tell you it's not my fault, that's for sure."

Armand strode across the room to their table. They both knew what he was coming for.

"Nim," Armand began, "how'd I know I'd find you here?"

"Ten-drake Tirdas," she replied and tossed back her drink with a toothy grin.

"Can I have a word with you?" he asked.

"You can have many. Which one to start with? I'm thinking 'Beer' or 'Ale.'"

Armand stood stone still, unwavering in his blank stare. He was not amused.

"Alright lead the way," the small elf said.

Nim slipped on her pack and bounded toward the front counter where she set down two five-piece septims. Armand was already out the door. She followed in silence as he led her down the waterfront walkway and into his shack.

Armand sat at the table and waved Nim toward him

"Have a seat."

She took the seat at the head of the table and peered around the cozy room The house was immaculate save a pair of women's trousers peeking out from underneath the bed. It was modestly, though tastefully decorated with deep red wool rugs and cotton tapestries, and the furnishings were of a much higher quality than anything she had seen in the neighboring shacks. Nim was quite certain that Armand had the gold to live somewhere much nicer than the Waterfront. Since she joined the guild, she had come to know him quite well as a frugal, sensible man with little patience for the extraneous purchases that their guildmates often partook in. However, a few curious peeks into his pockets and the dressers of his house revealed a nice stash of precious gems. She wouldn't be surprised if the Redgaurd doyen held another property in a nicer part of the realm. In fact, she would be more surprised if he didn't.

"So what's the big man crying about now?" Nim asked. "Was it my side-eye?"

"Tell me, why do we have to have this conversation every time you meet with the Gray Fox?" Armand's voice sounded more annoyed than angry, but Nim new better. He was mad as hell.

"I can assure you that I enjoy these chats just as much as you do."

"Really? You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you, Nim, because I value my time. This," he said, driving his pointer finger down upon the table "is a waste of my time."

"Hey, don't you think I have better things to do too? I'd rather pick an Ogre's toenails than chat about whatever 'insubordination' imp-shit you're about to let loose."

Armand breathed deeply and maintained his stoic, disinterested gaze. Nim recognized it immediately. It was the same face she made whenever she had to deal with anyone insufferable. He lowered his voice to a gentle, monotone drone.

"If you're time is as valuable as you say it is than you would learn to handle yourself better in front of the Gray Fox."

"I don't know what story he spins into your ear, but If I had to put gold on it, I think the problem would be fixed as soon as somebody grew thicker skin."

Armand frowned. "A thicker skin, that's an idea, Nim. But if I had to put a septim on it I'd say that person would be you. The Gray Fox is our Guild Master, the reason why we are able to operate. He has led this guild for centuries and given you more opportunity to advance than any other thief in our ranks. All he asks is that you treat him with a bit of respect. I don't care if he's the Daedric Prince of Madness, you smile pretty and nod your head."

"The fact that he asks you to have this conversation with me every time I flare my nostrils at him should speak loud enough. He's insufferable. I will not lie to his face and I will not lie to yours. I think he is a joke, and I don't understand how such a vile man could expect to demand respect from even a worm."

"And who are you to be judging anyone's character, let alone the leader of this guild? I vouched for you. If you don't care that he thinks you're a petulant child, maybe think about how your actions reflect on me."

Through her messy ponytail, the tips of Nim's pointed ears began to grow red. "You vouched for my skill, not my ability to kiss arse. And say, why does he need someone else to do his dirty work if he is a Godsforsaken master thief?""

Armand hung his head with a low sigh before meeting Nim's unamused stare. She shifted forward in her chair until she was sat at the very edge of the seat and placed her hand flat at the table.

"Armand, I respect you," she began in a hushed voice. "All of the Thieves Guild respects you because you have proven yourself to be a strong, competent leader. You don't go around sulking in the shadows when the guild takes a hit and you certainly don't go around screeching about insubordination."

"No, if you pulled that act with me, I'd have thrown your ass on the streets."

"Right, well, I would never have treated you that way in the first place. I know that the other guild members regard the Gray Fox as a god among thieves, but they have not worked with him as I have. They know of him through the grand legends spun from drunken nights and exaggerated in passing from ear to ear. But he is merely a sad, pitiful old man with the power of tall tales behind him. Where was the Gray Fox when you were driven underground? Where was he when Theranis went missing in Skingrad?"

"All right, Nim, let's remember the value of our time. Get to the point, please."

Nim furrowed her brows at the Redguard but held back the snide remark brewing at the back of her throat.

"Listen, when I joined, you told me we had three rules, right? Never steal from the poor, never steal from other members of the guild, and never kill on the job."

"That's correct," he said with a nod.

"When the Gray Fox explained my latest task, he told me that I could kill an innocent. Armand, he said it without batting an eye, as though everything that existed outside of his narrow desires was expendable. Is the value of the job he would have me complete truly weighted as highly as the life of another?"

"Are you quite sure that's what he said that to you?" Armand raised his eyebrows. "There's no way you could have misinterpreted his message?"

"I wouldn't lie about this. It disgusts me. What could he possibly want that has such a high price? For a bit of gold, he thinks he holds the bloody world at his fingertips. I just- I can't help how I feel about him, Armand. He's a twisted man, bent in all the wrong ways. When I am around him I'm overcome with a visceral repulsion that I can't explain. And I certainly don't believe he has the best interests of the guild in mind, only his own."

"I won't act as though I know how the Gray Fox operates. I don't know what he's after save what you've told me. You are free to decline his requests. Did he make you are aware of that?"

"Yes, I know," Nim replied. "The Master Thief's getting a bit round around the belly. I guess he can't be bothered to fulfil his own jobs."

"And did you accept it?" Armand asked, choosing to ignore the latter comment.

"Of course I did. He asked me to steal from a mage, a very high-ranking mage. I know wizards better than anyone in the guild, and if he didn't send me it would have been someone else, no? These jobs are dangerous, and I don't trust him to have anyone's back in this. Also it pays well and I am saving up for a house afterall."

Armand sat in brief silence before shaking his head with a puzzled expression. "I- I will say that I find it a bit unnerving. I wouldn't have expected the Gray Fox to so readily permit murder among our ranks."

"Yes, it does spoil the allure of his image a bit."

Armand squinted his eyes at the small elf and curled his top lip.

"I'm just saying it's a bit barbaric, is it not?" Nim added with a shrug

"Sure," the redguard replied quickly. "Your honesty is appreciated if not entirely asked for. At least I know a bit more about where you're coming from. As a favor to me, don't let the details of your tasks leave this room. You understand why it would be bad for the rest of the guild to know about this, don't you?"

"Of course. If our own Guild Master condones murder on the job, I might expect a bit more creativity from our guild members."

Armand shook his head.

"I won't tell you how to interact with the Guild Master should you continue to do so in the future. Just keep in mind that no one is holding your feet to the fire." He released a long sigh. "If you hate the man that much, why not limit your time spent around him? Maybe then we won't have to repeat this meeting every few weeks. It's getting old very quickly."

"I'll think about it," Nim replied, standing to her feet. "But then who will I rant to about the moral decay of the Thieves Guild on a semi-weekly basis?" She made her way toward the door and offered the Doyen a quick smile. Armand looked positively exhausted. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have another pint to finish and a guar-dung-load of studying to do."


	7. Spring Ephemerals

**Chapter 7: Spring Ephemerals**

By First seed, the rain had cleared to crisp blue skies and billowing clouds. The Spring approached softly with a bloom of white dog-wood flowers lining the city walkways. The ferns had returned with long green fronds and the chickadees that perched among the leaf buds of the trees sang their tune proudly into the dawn. The winter finals week had concluded on Fridas and by Sundas morning, the university grounds was quiet and empty. The living quarters on the other hand was well occupied, as many students slept off the past few nights of celebratory drinking.

Raminus sat on the stone wall along the pathway of the central rotunda in the brisk air. He sipped from a steaming mug of stoneflower tea as he reviewed the spring quarter schedule proposed by the young first-year in front of him. The Breton girl, Pria, arrived at the University as a novice conjurer but had taken a strong interest in alteration. Raminus strongly encouraged her to explore the school of magic and was mid-sentence through suggesting Caranya's course in alteration when a blur of orange flashed in the corner of his eye.

Turning his head quickly toward the direction of the sudden movement, he spotted Nimileth plopped down on her knees beside a patch of budding green grass in the Lustratorium. She was digging furiously into the moist soil. Suddenly losing his train of thought as he watched the young elf nibble a small, brown root, the next words of his sentence fell limp in his mouth and tumbled out in rather incomplete, incoherent gibberish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last bit," the young Breton mage said with a puzzled look.

Raminus snapped back to the woman in front of him with a flustered expression.

"My apologies, Pria, he replied. "I meant to say that you should look into the class _Shields and Wards_. It's taught by Master Wizard Caranya who is a skilled conjurer herself." Raminus's couldn't control his eyes as they trailed the small bosmer in his periphery who was now zipping around the garden pulling forth the shoots of an unidentifiable plant and carrying what looked like a slender femur. He returned his attention to Pria, who shifted uncomfortably in her stance as she watched Raminus's eyes flicker back to the elf in the distance. "In addition, you should take these early quarters to familiarize yourself with potential mentors."

"Yes, I meant to speak with you about this actually. One of the fourth-years had mentioned…."

Raminus nodded along as Pria recounted her story while he tried desperately not to lose sight of the wandering Bosmer. Over the past month had seen Nim wandering the halls in between classes and study sessions a small handful of times. Each time she seemed very eager to avoid making eye contact and directed her path away from him. In fact they had only spoken once since her initial return from Skingraad.

Raminus had entered the Archmage's lobby one afternoon to find her chatting with Bothiel about repairing the Orrery. He wanted so badly to offer another apology, to admit how wrong he and the Council had been. He wanted to ask about how she had been, how she was adjusting to life at the University. He wanted to know where she spent all her lonely evening and how it was that such a young woman could be such a self-sufficient practitioner. Most of all, he wanted to know what he could do to rebuild her trust. Instead he asked about her classes of all things. _Classes_.

 _'I've been very busy, Raminus_ ' was her curt reply.

Raminus rolled in and out of his memories. His gaze bounced between the Breton and the copper-haired elf who was now plucking the pale green flower bud of a white trillium. He cleared his throat.

"Well Pria, I think that is sound advice. It's a very good practice to refer to the older students for guidance throughout your time here. Most first-years choose to focus on building a strong foundation of knowledge before specializing. I encourage you not to shy away from unfamiliar schools, as tempting as it might be to focus on what you are already comfortable with. There is always more to learn." Raminus finished with a small nod and a weak smile. He took hold of the tea set down beside him and stood to his feet. "I hope this conversation has been helpful in addressing some of your concerns."

"Oh, actually I was-"

"Now don't hesitate to call on me in the Archmage's lobby should you wish to speak further. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Pria. Get lots of rest. You've earned it after your first set of finals."

"Erm, you too Raminus," the Breton girl replied with a detectable amount of irritation in her voice. She watched Raminus turn toward the Lustratorium Gardens where her classmate sat digging into the earth.

The campus had been so alive with panicking students preparing for their quarter finals, yet Nimileth had not been seen in any study groups or last-minute review sessions last week. Knowing that her last scheduled exam was on Turdas. Raminus had been searching for her the past two days. Somehow, he always seemed to be searching for her. With one hand holding his mug and the other smoothing down the sides of his hair, Raminus approached cautiously. He had hardly spoke to Nim since her return from Skingraad, and since then a few pertinent issues arose that he needed to discuss with her. Would she still be upset with him?

"Hello Nimileth," He called out with a small wave. He held his breath as the little bosmer whipped her head around to reveal large, blinking green eyes framed by a wild mess of hair straying from a loose bun. Dark circles hung beneath them and the tip of her nose was red and runny. Raminus noted that her hands, covered in dirt, were shaking slightly. When he spied a mug of dark brown coffee set beside her, he understood her ghastly appearance. He was a student once and he could easily recognize that terrible state of sleep deprivation that commonly plagued students.

"Couple of late nights studying?"

"One or two," she replied with a small grin and not a hint of sleeplessness in her voice. She released a small sniffle and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand before she returned to digging with a long, white dirt-covered bone.

After a week of late nights in the library with her notes sprawled across the desk and countless cups of green tea, Nim had managed to pass all of her winter classes with flying colors. She thanked Stendarr nightly for taking mercy on her for there was no way she would have done so well in Mysticism had there not been some element of divine intervention.

"You ought to be catching up on sleep. What are you doing out here?" Raminus spotted the bone sticking out of the hole in front of her. "Is that a deer femur?"

"A tibia actually," Nim replied and returned to digging out a small white bulb with her makeshift shovel. "I couldn't find my scapula this morning. Might have crushed it for meal now that I think about."

"Innovative," Raminus said with an approving nod.

"Yeah well a scapula works better. It's got a nice flat shape and its not as cumbersome as carrying around a spade. Anyway, this is my last chance at collecting spring ephemerals. Finals came so fast. I can't believe I forgot how soon all the trilliums would be finished blooming. I've at least managed to find some bloodroot here in the garden. After breakfast I'll head out into the City Isle. I think I remember seeing some around the Wawnet Inn." Nimileth stood to her feet and dusted off her loose robe before taking a sip of coffee. "Oh, but you look like you want to say something. What can I do for you?"

"Yes, there is actually something I was hoping to speak to you about. But if your busy perhaps-"

"Oh no," she cried out quickly. "I always have time for you, Raminus. Please, let's speak now."

Raminus forced himself to ignore a brief flutter in his belly that arose from the eagerness in her voice.

"I heard you did very well in all your classes this quarter. Congratulations." He bowed his head with a smile.

The corner of Nim's mouth quivered as she fought to keep a straight face. A small smile crept onto her lips for a second and she took a long sip of her coffee to hide it. "I did. Thank you." she replied flatly. "How do you know that?"

Raminus chuckled at the attempt to hide her excitement. "Gaspar Stegine is very vocal about which students he sees talent in. That's some high praise, Nimileth."

Nim shrugged her shoulders and then blushed furiously as she wondered whether Raminus found that an expression of arrogance. She stared deep into her coffee. "I'm just trying to do the best I can, same as anyone here. But I know you're not here just to flatter me. What is it you really want to talk about? Does the Council have need of my service once more?" and with that last question, Raminus watched as her smile faded.

"Ah yes in fact. The Council once again requests your help, but that is not the most pressing matter I wish to discuss with you. I noticed you haven't enrolled in any classes for the spring quarter," he said, taking a step closer.

"Oh, and how'd you happen to notice that?" Nim asked. She leaned her back up against the wall and smoothed her hair down along the side of her head with her free hand. Raminus watched curiously as the girl managed to cover half of her face with dirt without any sign of concern. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed. "Keeping tabs on me now? What, you still don't trust me?"

The Imperial couldn't quite tell whether Nim was asking playfully or if she was still sore from their last encounter. Maybe a bit of both, he concluded. He only hoped that she wasn't putting up a front to keep their interactions cordial.

"Well Nim I happen to be an advisor for all the first-year students. I review everyone's schedule."

"Oh," She cast a quick glance to the side. "Right."

"I didn't have you pinned for the kind of student to slack on course registration, so I asked around. You've been busy it seems. Why didn't you mention that you had sought out an apprenticeship in Anvil?"

Raminus happened to learn this bit of information from Bothiel who was quite adept at catching the latest bits of gossip floating through the Archmage's lobby. Gaspar Stegine had mentioned Nimileth's plans to the Orrery director in passing. As one of his top students, he had taken quite an interest in her future directions at the University.

When Bothiel passed the news along to him, Raminus was surprised, but only at first. She had arrived on the campus only a few months back with a smile so wide it looked painful, yet now she was already planning to leave? For half a second the master-wizard felt his heart sink into his gut, certain that Nim was so disillusioned with the university, with the council's scheming, with Raminus and his noodle spine that she couldn't bear to spend another quarter trapped within its stone walls.

But he had come to know Nim fairly well within those months and knew she wasn't one to let a grudge interfere with her success.

He and the council had spoken at length about this peculiar Bosmer. It had been years since they had come across a novice mage that possessed the same degree of skill at an age as young as Nim's. The Council certainly understood that she was a valuable asset to their ranks, and they knew it would do them well to keep her nearby for a while longer. Raminus' concerns of her leaving were much less business-like nature. He was still her academic advisor after-all.

"I thought I had made my intention to study under Carahil rather clear," Nim said. "She specializes in illusion and is looking for new students to train. She was quite supportive of the idea when I wrote to her." She scanned Raminus's face for a reaction. "Isn't this good news?"

"I spoke with Carahil earlier this week. She's absolutely thrilled at the prospect of young illusionist joining the Anvil Chapter."

Nim squinted her eyes at the Master Wizard. "Then why don't you sound pleased?"

"Nimileth, I understand your need for independence, but I really wish you would have consulted me prior to your decision. You only arrived at the university a few months ago. There are still so many things for you to learn from the resources we have. You should take time to explore the courses offered here, to learn from the wealth of experts we offer."

"Hmm." Nim shifted her weight onto her left foot and took another sip of coffee. "What are you suggesting, that I defer my offer?"

"I'm encouraging you to stay in the Imperial City for a while longer, just until the Fall. Take a few more courses before you jump into advanced training. Carahil isn't going anywhere, and I guarantee that she would have no problem with you waiting until then. There's no need to rush into an apprenticeship when you are just beginning to wet your feet in the Arcane studies."

Raminus could tell that Nim was not happy with his suggestion. She stared intently into her half-full mug and breathed deeply.

"So you're saying that I'm not ready, that I need more training." Her voice drooped with disappointment.

"No one doubts your ability to thrive in Anvil, Nim. I didn't mean it like that."

"But you were the one who told me that by the time I reached Conjurer I should look for apprenticeships. I'm an Evoker now. What's the difference in one rank?"

"And that remains true, but most students are Conjurers by the beginning of their third year. You've risen through the ranks quite swiftly in the few months you've been here. Everyone is quite impressed with your work, not only as a student but also with your contribution to this Necromancer issue."

"Wouldn't that suggest I should go even sooner? Accelerate my training and all that. Especially if the Council insists on sending me out on recon missions without my knowledge."

Raminus felt the sting of that last remark and made a mental note to circle back to the topic. Clearly it was just as much on her mind as it was on his.

"Why not work on your training in the schools you are least familiar with first. Build a broad foundation on which to build your expertise. Here's my suggestion, as an advisor. Stay another quarter. Take classes in the schools you're least knowledgeable in. I'd prefer-erm, it would be preferable to stay a whole semester, but start with a quarter. Let's talk about your schedule afterward."

"I-Okay Raminus. I trust your judgement. You're right, I should have consulted you."

"Do you mean that sincerely or are you simply trying to appease me."

"No- I mean yes. Look, I understand all you've said to me. I agree and I disagree, but mostly, I haven't the energy to fight. I'll enroll for another quarter and though I'm not over the moons about it now, I'm sure I'll feel better once I sleep on it."

"Good. Thank you for being so candid."

"Mhm." Nim replied through her mug. She looked much more tired now than she did at the start of their conversation.

"Now what about the Council? You said they had another task for me?"

"Yes they -" Raminus stopped himself. Regardless of the Council's wishes, he was certain this wasn't an appropriate time. "Actually I have something for you, Nim."

"Oh?" The look of surprise brought some life back into her sleepy eyes.

"I meant to give it to you sooner, after you arrived from Skingrad in fact," he said while reaching into his pocket. " but it seems you had other plans that day."

"Hmm, if you had a gift for me maybe I wouldn't have fled so swiftly." Nim's eyes trailed Raminus' closed palm. A golden chain twisted around his thumb and dangled in the air.

Raminus recalled the Bosmer's pained face and harsh words from that day. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe that."

The imperial uncurled his fingers to reveal an amulet of two diamond-cut gemstones of green hue. They were framed by a gold pendant decorated with intricate engravings

"By the grace of Dibella's left tit," Nim gasped. She reached out and hovered her hand below the pendant. She could feel the magic aura radiating from it. "I've never seen a necklace so beautiful. What is the enchantment?'

"It's the Spelldrinker amulet. It's enchanted with a charm of spell absorption to, uh, keep you safe. I wanted you to have it upon your advancement to Evoker. It's a little late now but just as well deserved." He extended his arm and gave her an approving nod. When she didn't accept it immediately Raminus grew a little worried. "My way of saying sorry, Nimileth. I hope you can forgive me for putting you in harms way."

He watched as Nim scrunched the loose strands of her hair up into a messy bun and held it at the back of her head. She turned her back to Raminus, who stood still, a bit confused, with the amulet dangling from his fingers.

"Will you?" she asked.

The chain was quite long. Probably long enough for the little elf to slip it over her head without needing to undo the clasp. But he set his mug of tea down and obliged, lifting the amulet up over her head and closing the ends together at the nape of her neck. He saw that she was blushing when she turned around, and her face was once again split into a grin so wide that it must have been painful. Raminus felt something deep within him skip at the sight of the small elf glowing in excitement once more. She held the pendant up to her eye and stared at him through the green stone. With her free hand she reached out and took hold of his wrist, sliding her grip down to his palm until she settled her fingers into his.

"Thank you," the elf whispered, still staring at Raminus through the gemstone. "I've never owned anything as lovely as this."

Almost on instinct, Raminus gave the small hand in his palm a gentle squeeze before realizing that they were standing in an open courtyard. Quickly, he withdrew his hands into his pocket and did his best to ignore the warmth blooming in his cheeks.

"Of course. Like I said, It's well deserved."

"So, you mentioned a new task right?" Nim was still turning the amulet over and over in her palms. He hadn't seen her so excited in weeks. He was certainly not about to interfere with her newfound joy.

"Oh, that can wait. You should enjoy the rest of your weekend. Go out and collect some spring ephemerals. Take time to recover from your first quarter."

"I could squeeze you until you burst right now." The elf squealed.

"That won't be necessary," he replied, watching as Nim zipped around him gathering her pack of assorted plants and deer bones. And though technically true, a part of Raminus wished she would.


	8. The Beauty of Artifacts

**Chapter 8:** The Beauty of Artifacts

Nim was surprised when she learned that her new assignment had nothing to do with necromancers. One part of her felt relieved that she might finally gain experience in a scholarly pursuit that did not involve burning witches and warlocks to ash. Although she was grateful for the opportunity to hone her destruction magic skills, Nim was eager to partake in an arcane endeavor that was not centered around violence. A smaller part of her was a little disappointed.

Nim was certain that the most pressing matter faced by the Mages Guild had to be the growing network of necromancers in Cyrodiil. If the Council had plans in motion to root out the hidden practitioners, she certainly wanted to be a part of it. A small knot of worry gnawed in her belly at the thought of Raminus asking that the Council to remove her from working on the necromancer issue in its entirety. All she wanted was transparency. There was still much work to be done.

Nim arrived at the dig-site just as the sun spread its rays over the Valus mountains. She was eager to occupy her mind with anything aside from the Gray Fox's latest request; It was coming up on a full week since their last meeting and she was no closer to figuring out how to infiltrate Fathis Aren's tower without getting kicked out of the Mages guild. After this, she told herself, she'd make a very reluctant trip down to Bravil.

Upon entering the ruin, Nim was very confused to find the two researchers on-site dressed as though they were headed to Sundas chapel. Skaleel, the researcher in charge of the project, was dressed in a soft though impractical gown and lounging by a fire-pit at the mouth of the cavern entrance. Though idle in appearance, she quickly revealed that she was stressed to the point of giving up on the excavation completely. After weeks of blocked progress, the least she could ask for was to be comfortable in this must old cave.

Raminus had warned Nim that the Argonian would likely be in a sour mood given Irlav Jarol's neglect of the project. Nim had to bite her tongue when the Master Wizard mentioned it was the Council keeping Irlav from dedicating his full attention the Vahtacen's excavation. Of course the Council thought it's priorities should be the same for everyone. Nim felt sorry for Skaleel, who obviously took on the project under the impression that Irlav would be a much more present advisor. She wondered how long the Argonian had spent in that dark cavern and whether a week long vacation in a remote, sunny location would do good to revive her interests.

With the exception of being much better lit, Vahtacen looked unremarkably similar to the handful of other Ayleid ruins she had plundered. After working with Denel to decipher the ruins on the central chamber's pillars, Nim convinced Skaleel to join her in exploring the newly revealed passage way. Skaleel's mood brightened considerably at the prospect of completing some real work after weeks of stagnancy. In silent excitement, the pair proceeded into the inner sanctum of the ruin in search of an Ayleid artifact worthy of Irlav's attention.

The sunless chambers they passed through pulsated with an aura of ancient magic that left Nim light-headed and riddled with goose-bumbs. She skirted the edges of the ruin's large rooms, wary of any hidden traps and pressure plates designed to kill trespassers just like her and Skaleel. Even with the payout of the Welkynd stones and the riches hidden in the rusted casks, traversing the ancient structure was a great risk for the little elf, but for an adrenaline junkie like herself, that was simply a part of the rush. She could do without the mold growing in the cracks and corners, however, as the spores left her nose a little irritated.

The pair easily disposed of the ghosts haunting the halls of their old home. Skaleel was quite competent with her shock magic and fired away at the spectres with a fury that could only build up after weeks of dead-end frustration. Despite only retrieving one object, an ancient elven helm, Skaleel was thrilled with the progress. Nim left the two researchers with the impression that the excursion had done good to revive their motivation future Ayleid research.

* * *

Nimileth sat at the dining table on the ground floor of the Bravil Guild Hall with a few of her fellow mages. The chatter and laughter as they caught her up to speed on the local gossip was a welcome distraction from her task at hand. Nim hadn't visited Bravil as often as she would have liked to since gaining access to the University. The city itself wasn't much to look at, sure, but the people were warm, unpretentious, and eager to help. It goes without saying that they were particularly fond of Nim after all she had done to help Henatier and Ardaline. Though Bravil was not the first chapter through which she sought admittance into the Mages guild, Kud-ei had been the first to take her request seriously. It was in this very building that she became an Associate, and every time she opened the rickety front door with one loose hinge, the nostalgia of those early days flooded through her.

In many ways, Bravil reminded her of the Imperial Waterfront. Beyond the superficial resemblance, the rows of dingy shacks, barefooted beggars, and murky waters, it was a safe haven for Nim in some of her darkest days. The Waterfront was where she made her first friends among thieves, the ones who took her in when she had nothing but her prison clothes and the secret of the Emperor's death. Bravil was where she met the first mages that accepted her when she was struggling to get a leg up as a young practitioner seeking independence.

Now she sat amongst her friend's with a half-baked plan to obtain a meeting with the master conjurer, Fathis Aren. All she needed was a little more information, and she hopped a fresh bottle of Tamika's would be enough to loosen a few tongues.

"Fathis Aren?" Delphine Jend looked across the table at Nim suspiciously. The Breton woman took a deep sip of wine from her goblet before holding it out in front of the Bosmer to signal that a refill was needed. "The Court Wizard?"

"Yes. He offers training in conjuration, correct?" Nim replied, filling the goblet well past the midline.

"Indeed, but since when have you been interested in conjuration?" Delphine, an adept trainer in destruction magic, had spent many hours working with Nim when she was still an associate. The two of them shared a penchant for setting things ablaze. Never before had the bosmer expressed a curiosity in summoning.

"Since I enrolled in Caranya's class, _Sigils and binds for novices_."

Kud-ei shook her head at the young elf. "The spring quarter has been in session for two weeks, Nim. You don't need to become an expert just because you're taking one class. You work yourself too hard."

"Besides I hear he charges an arm and a leg for his time," Delphine added.

"Hmm," Henantier, who had just entered with a plate of fresh, steaming sweet-cakes, said with a pensive look. He took his seat beside Kud-ei and rubbed her hand tenderly. It made Nim's heart soar to see the happy couple together. They were quite inseparable since she returned Henantier from the dream-world. "I'm not sure that's true anymore, Delphine. He's been awfully bored up there at Castle Bravil. As well-compensated as he is, I'm not at all envious of his position. Last time I spoke with him, it sounded like he'd be willing to train a guar just to break up the tedium."

"Is he taking visitors?" Nim asked.

"I don't see why not. Between the time he spends here and among Bravil's nobility, I don't think he has much of a social life.

Aryarie, an Altmer nightblade, snorted loudly. "I assure you the Count and his family are not much company. Between that clown and his skooma-sucking son, I bet Fathis is spending as little time in the castle as possible." Everyone nodded in agreement.

Nim reached out for a sweetcake. As she nibbled she carefully eyed the other mages, gauging how much each had to drink. Delphine and Aryarie were well-past tipsy. Kud-ei had a mild buzz that left her scales a little rosy and with a perpetual smile. Hennantier, well Henantier was over seven feet tall. It would take a whole keg to get that man drunk.

"Is it true that Fathis has an interest in rare artifacts?" Nim asked, tearing off another hunk of sweetcake.

"I suppose he is a bit of a collector," Kud-ei replied. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some noise that passes through the University. He wouldn't happen to know anything about Ayleid ruins, would he?"

"Ayleid ruins?" Delphine scrunched her nose as though smelling something foul. "And since when have you been interested in Ayleid ruins?"

"Have you been listening at all?" Aryarie interrupted. "She just told us about her work in Vahtacen."

Delphine waved her hands in the air dismissively. "Don't you listen to that Irlav Jarol. You're a destruction mage, just as I am. We don't excavate, darling. We incinerate."

"A bunch of uncultured brutes, that's what you are." The Altmer mumbled into the bottom of her goblet.

Kud-ei tapped her finger on the table in thought. "I suppose he does have a large assortment of curiosities, though I'm not sure they're all scholarly in nature. Last time I was at his tower, he had shown me the oddest work of taxidermy I had ever seen. Some sort of troll or imp maybe. I'm not entirely convinced it was a real creature. I think he just liked looking at how ugly it was." Kud-ei's face contorted in displeasure. She took a long swig from the bottle of mead in front of her as though washing a bad taste from her mouth.

"But nothing Ayleid?"

Kud-ei shrugged though Nim knew he had at least one Ayleid trinket in his possession.

"Well maybe some Dwemer in that case," she proposed. Any information about Fathis Aren's interests was useful to the development of her scheme. Nim was almost certain she could secure an audience with Fathis under the pretense of conjuration lessons, but a simple training session wouldn't do her any good. No, she needed to get into his tower - Specifically, she needed to be _invited_ into his tower. NIm was hoping that if she could convince the Court Wizard that she too was an inspiring collector of ancient artifacts then maybe, just maybe, he'd let her see this cursed arrowhead. Convincing him to give it to her- well that plan was still cooking.

"Oh Henantier, what was that event he mentioned the other month?" Kud-ei tapped her lover's hand as she struggled to resurface the memory. " Some sort of auction in the Imperial City, wasn't it?"

An auction? Nim's ears perked at the news.

"Oh yes, that's right. Apparently there's some Ayleid enthusiast in the city who holds auctions for rare artifacts. I can't for the life of me remember his name. Ambarno? Uncano?"

"Umbacano?" Nim asked. She had heard the name from Skaleel and Denel who had spoke briefly of a curious Ayleid relic collector living in the city. Umbacano was a wealthy Altmer who owned a large residence in the center of the Talos Plaza District. Though not affiliated with the Mages Guild, he and Irlav Jarol were well acquainted. The number of experts in Ayleid history were few within Cyrodiil. It wasn't uncommon to keep one another in close correspondence.

"Yes, that's the name." Henantier gave a slow nod. "You know him?"

"Of him. Henantier, could you write Fathis Aren for me? He doesn't know me. Perhaps you could put in a good word? I hear he spends a lot of time in his tower outside of the city. I wouldn't want to show up announced."

"My pleasure, Nim. I'll let him know you're interested in his work. Keep an eye out for a reply."

And as Nim settled back into her daily routine at back at the Arcane University, she waited eagerly and with the smallest hint of utter terror.

* * *

Raminus sifted through the afternoon mail, slightly distracted by the metallic clangs and muffled laughter that passed into the lobby through the walls of the Orrery. Bothiel and Nimileth had been working away at the final repairs for four long hours; Earlier that morning, the tiny bosmer had burst into the lobby with half her face covered in blood, babbling incoherently about Dwemer artifacts and waving a Dwarven cylinder in the air as though she had just discovered the cure for Corpus. Before Raminus could sit her down to inspect for wounds, Bothiel began jumping up and down and shrieking in delight. Horrified, Raminus watched as the two bosmeri women made eye contact, exchanged several words telepathically, and ran straight for the Orrery within a matter of seconds.

As curious as he was about what the two mages were up to, Raminus hesitated to offer his help. The Orrery was Bothiel's baby, and everyone was surprised to find that she had allowed Nim to help at all. As he sat there sorting through the names scrawled on the packages, a curious envelope addressed to Nimileth caught his eye.

Fathis Aren? What business did Nim have with the Bravil Court Wizard? For a reason Raminus chose not to explore, he felt compelled to read its contents. How long had she and Fathis been acquaintances? Raminus squinted his eyes and tried to remember the last time he had seen the Dunmer mage. It must have been a few months ago, he concluded. The Council had invited Fathis into Imperial City for dinner with the well-disguised intention of squeezing out any information about the necromancer presence south of the Nibenay Basin. He couldn't be any younger than Raminus was, right, and was he really as attractive as the mental image he produced? He wondered if Nimileth thought so too.

Overruling his impulsive desire pry open the corner of the seal, the Master Wizard stood to his feet and made his way to the Orrery entrance.

"Hello?" He called out from behind the metal door. He gave a cautious knock. When no voice answered, he slowly pushed through to the inner chamber.

Raminus watched in awe as the glowing heavens swirled around him. Bothiel had shut off the lights, and the stars dotting the ceiling burned an ethereal blue. The rhythmic whirr of the dwemer machinery filled the silence as he made his way up the spiraled staircase. Wherever they were, the two bosmers had made fast work of the repairs. It had been several years since the Orrery was in working condition, even more since Raminus had taken the time to visit it. A little embarrassed to admit it, Raminus had forgotten how breathtaking a mechanical contraption could be. Standing still at the top of the stairs, he gazed upward as the celestial bodies orbited the room in perpetual motion.

"Raminus," he heard a small voice cry out from the darkness and looked around for Nim. "Come sit with us."

He peered around the dark mezzanine in search of the voice's source when he spotted Bothiel's robe-covered legs sticking out from beside the console. He approached, sliding the envelope into his pocket and taking a knee next to Nim who sat cross legged. She leaned back on her arms and waved him over with a smile.

"It runs even better than before," Bothiel said barely above a whisper. She was laying flat on her back and staring deeply skyward toward the revolving planets. Her robes were splotched with stains of black oil from working the machinery. She hadn't turned her head to greet Raminus, who wasn't sure if she was even aware of his presence in the room.

"Come sit," Nim once again requested. She scooted to the side, leaving just enough space for Raminus to wedge himself in between her and the console.

"It's magnificent." He said softly. "I can't believe the two of you managed to fix it within a day."

"I just followed directions," she smiled. "Truthfully, I couldn't tell a coherer from a cylinder."

Raminus was about to pull the letter from his pocket when he felt a tug on the arm of his robe.

"What's your birthsign?" Nim whispered, gazing up at him expectantly.

Raminus caught her eyes, his voice faltering for a moment as he took her in. Just like Bothiel, her clothes and arms were covered with dark smudges of oil. Unlike Bothiel, Nim's skin bore suspicious rust colored streaks of dried blood from the morning. She didn't appear pained in anyway. In fact, she looked quite blissful. Assured that she wasn't hurt, Raminus cleared his throat.

"The Steed."

Nim tipped her head backward and leaned against Raminus's shoulder as she scanned the artificial sky. His body stiffened as her hair tickled his neck just above the collar of his robe. He cast a worried glance at Bothiel. Unsurprisingly, she was not looking at them.

"Umm, Nim-" he began, shifting slightly but was cut off with a soft _shhh_ from the bosmer whose mouth was almost directly beside his jaw. Her long lashes brushed against the skin below his cheekbone as she blinked.

"Over there," she finally said and pointed a slender finger into the distant black darkness.

"Where?" the imperial asked, hoping his voice didn't betray how nervous her proximity was making him.

"Keep your eyes on where Kynareth makes the western most point of her orbit."

"Mhm," Raminus trailed the spinning planet as it danced around the room. "Okay I see."

"Just to the left of that point. Do you see it's legs?"

"I'm not sure. I think- oh yes, I see it now."

They sat unspeaking beneath the constellation. At his ear, he could hear her soft exhales through the thrum of the dwemer cogs.

"Quite beautiful, isn't it," she said, her voice a gentle hum.

Raminus nodded, his eyes transfixed on the bosmer's delicate smile and the reflection of the blue light from the sky in her glassy eyes. Beautiful. She was quite beautiful indeed.


	9. Very Resourceful

**Chapter 9: Very Resourceful**

Nim rose from the pew as the chapel bell stroke one O'clock. She was thankful that Marz, the chapel healer, wasn't present at this hour. Mara knew how much that Argonian loved to talk, and NIm did not have time to stop and chat today. She pulled the letter from Fathis Aren out of her cloak pocket, double checking the time listed in the black ink. Henantier's letter was well received by Fathis, and the dunmer mage seemed eager to begin lessons in his reply to Nim, a bit overly enthusiastic even. She wondered if his duties as Court Wizard truly were as dull as Henantier had let on. She wrote back promptly and made plans to meet the approaching Loredas afternoon, in half an hour from that very minute to be exact.

Nim was a little troubled that Fathis hadn't mentioned anything about Ayleid artifacts in his letter which meant that Henantier hadn't relayed her interest in writing. She hadn't yet figured out a solid plan to work the topic into conversation during their brief meeting. Since her chat with the mages in Bravil, Nim had spent every waking moment attempting to dig up as much information on the Dunmer Court Wizard as possible. She thoroughly questioned her closer colleagues at the University, Raminus, Irlav, and Bothiel, to gain the full extent of their knowledge. When even that did not suffice, she broke into the Imperial City's census and excise office to find Fathis' immigration records, and they were colorful to say the least.

She learned that he was old, not ancient, but 224 was at least 13 times as many lifetimes as Nim had lived. He declared quite a fortune upon entering Cyrodiil, which suggested that he either came from wealth or had amassed a great amount of gold over the course of a few centuries. Back in his home province of Morrowind, Fathis belonged to House Telvanni...prior to his expulsion that is. Nim was both pleased and disappointed to learn the reason why- pleased to find that he had been a staunch and vocal opponent of the Telvanni's practice of enslaving Khajiit and Argonian. Disappointed that there were no juicier details surrounding his removal.

Folding the letter up again, Nim approached Mara's altar and hung her head in shame, praying that the divines forgive her for the lies she was about to spin. If they worked, then she wouldn't _technically_ be stealing. That much gave her comfort.

The small Bosmer clutched the hood of her cloak tightly around her neck as she left the Chapel of Mara and stepped into the humid chill of early Bravil spring. The strong wind blew through the trees with a shrill whistle, threatening to blow the hood right off her head. She crossed through town keeping her head down and stopping only when she arrived at the statue of the Lucky Old Lady. Nim avoided making eye contact with the well-dressed male bosmer who lurked nearby as she stood to her toes to kiss the stone cheek of the statue. A little luck went a long way in these trying times.

Nim peered up at the dark grey clouds and scurried quickly along the stone path as a small drop splashed the tip of her nose. Arriving in the great hall of Castle Bravil, Nim was surprised to find Fathis waiting for her fifteen minutes before their scheduled meeting time. He was richly dressed in a fine red velvet set and stood with his hands clasped behind his back as she approached.

She let her cloak fall to her shoulders, shaking her tousled copper hair loose with one hand and straightening her russet felt gown with her other. She took her time getting ready this morning, applying a minute amount of rouge and pink lipstick to add some color to her face. It was all part of the rouse, and she hoped she looked as presentable as she felt. She wouldn't dare cast a charm spell on a fellow mage, but the courage spell she had cast on herself before entering was now in full effect.

"Fathis Aren, it's good to finally meet you," she walked confidently toward the elf and extended her hand forward. "My apologies. I didn't think you'd be waiting."

"Nimileth, I take it. It's no worry at all, " he said with a smile and took her outstretched hand with both of his. She held his gaze intently as he shook her hand up and down with two long pumps before returning it. "Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"I think I would remember if we had." Nim hadn't meant for the words to fall out of her mouth as lightly as they did. Before she realized what she was doing, her hands, moving on their own, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she gave Fathis a not-so-subtle glance up and down.

In truth, Nim had seen Fathis Aren in person before. As an associate, she regularly trained on her destruction magic with Delphine Jend in the Bravil guild hall where Fathis made the occasional appearance to restock his alchemical supplies. Nim had only seen him in passing a handful of times, but that was nearly a year and a half ago, not long after she escaped the Imperial Prison. She was a wiry, gaunt thing then with wild short hair and somehow always covered in dirt. Nim highly doubted Fathis took note of her then and she certainly was not about to mention it.

"Oh yes, hard to forget a face as devilishly handsome as this one, I suppose."

Nim burst into laughter like a coiled spring, his frivolous tone taking her suddenly off guard. She allowed herself to relax, feeling Fathis' playfulness would not be short-lived.

"I take it you don't agree," the dunmer said with a smirk.

Nim shook her head as she regained her composure. "And risk my chance of a discounted lesson? I'll say no such thing." The corners of her mouth curled into sly grin to match his own. "But now that you mention it, you do look familiar. I've seen you somewhere before. I'm certain of it."

"Not at the Guild Hall. _I_ would _certainly_ remember that."

"No, let's see," she rested her cheek against the palm of her hand and looked off into the distance, forcing herself to stare pensively at a small crack in the far wall. She debated mentioning her interest in relic-hunting at that moment, but decided against it. They were still in the great hall and far away from the Arrow of Extrication. "If I remember, I'll tell you. How about that?"

Fathis raised his eyebrows curiously. He seemed to be studying her. Nim still wasn't sure what her plan was. Was she playing the flirt? Maintaining an air of mystery? If she wasn't under such a strong courage spell, she would absolutely be panicking.

"So conjuration," she said, rocking back on her heels. She looked around the hallway. "Where do you suppose is the best place to summon a Xivilai?"

"A Xivilai!" Fathis chuckled heartily. "You're ambitious, aren't you?"

"Among other things."

"Well, certainly not in the Grand Hall. The Count holds session after his midday meal. Perhaps the courtyard? Come, let's make our way-"

"Actually," Nim quickly interrupted. "It's rather dreadful out there. I think a storm is on the horizon."

"Oh," Fathis frowned. "That's rather terrible news."

"Yes, I was hoping we could stay somewhere dry and warm."

Nim had learned from the beggars of the town that a secret passage connected the inner castle to Fathis' tower outside the city walls. Nim's best bet was that the entrance to the passageway was in Fathis' private quarters. She hoped she could convince him to lead her there with minimal eyelash batting and hair twirling.

"Understandable." The dunmer nodded his head. He pointed toward the top of the stairs. "My study is on the other side of those doors up there. There will be enough space to work as long as your not planning to summon a frost atronach."

"Not even a small one?"

Fathis smiled. "Maybe a small one."

"Splendid. I'll follow after you."

They proceeded into the castle's private quarters, briefly discussing Nim's advancement to Conjurer. Nim noted that the irony was not lost on her when she asked for lessons, which drew an approving chuckle from Fathis. She noticed that the Dunmer had used a series of four keys to unlock the door to his room. Whatever he was hiding within it he certainly wanted to keep from wandering eyes.

Nim found herself gazing in awe at the size of the Dunmer's bedroom. She hadn't been inside the private quarters of a castle since her servant years in Kvatch and had nearly forgotten how excessively large the living spaces were. Quickly bringing herself back to focus, she scanned the perimeter in search of a suspicious looking wall sconce, bookcase, or throw-rug that could be hiding the entrance to a trap door.

Fathis walked to the far end of the room and turned to face Nim, whose eyes were still trailing the perimeter of the room.

"Let's see what you can do then." He motioned toward the center of the room with an open palm. Nim hesitated.

She squeezed her eyes, focusing her magicka to call upon the realm of Oblivion. A yellow mist washed over her as she felt the cold metal and growing weight of bound armor surround her legs. With her hands on her hips, she stepped out of the mist and began a slow jig toward Fathis. She took deep bounds, placing the heel of her daedric boot firmly on the ground before bobbing up into the next step with a series of _clink clanks_ as the armor hit the stone tile.

Fathis watched with pursed lips and wide eyes as Nim raised one hand in the air. The mist returned to envelope her wrists. Keeping her hand held high as a pair of bracers materialized on her arms, Nim circled back toward the front of the room where she could get a better view of the items lining Fathis' shelves. With her back turned to Fathis, Nim wasted no time scanning the shelves, the desks, the walls for anything she could use to strike up a conversation that was not about conjuration.

Nim halted in her tracks when she heard Fathis clear his throat. She pivoted on her heels and peered over her left shoulder, batting her eyelashes a few times for good measure.

"Ta-da," she sang with a lively pitch.

Fathis leaned back against the wall with one arm crossed over his chest and the other hand propped under his chin. He appeared to be in deep thought. "I'm searching for the proper words to describe what I just saw."

Nim turned to face him. "I'm afraid I only know three spells. Would you like to see me summon a dagger?"

"Not if you're going to do that dance again."

She pouted. "Something wrong with my technique?"

As Fathis stepped toward her, Nim caught a brief flash in the corner of her eye. She turned her head to locate the source of the glint and spied a dining table to her left beneath a flickering brazier. In the center of the table, a large Varla stone sat in a silver pedestal. Nim's blood turned electric as she recognized it.

"Aha!" she cried out with the snap of her finger. Fathis took a step back, surprised by the sudden reaction, and cocked his head in confusion. "The Varla stone. I remember now."

After a brief pause of shock, Fathis replied. "What?"

"In the Imperial City. You were at Umbacano's auction back in First Seed, weren't you? I knew I recognized you."

"Yes, I was!" the dunmer's face lit up with delighted surprise. "Don't tell me- you're a relic-hunter too?"

"What a small world it is!" She hoped her deliberate avoidance of the question would go unnoticed as long as she kept him entertained. "You know, I just completed an excavation at Vahtacen earlier this week. You won't believe what we recovered from there."

"You were in Vahtacen?" Fathis, eyes wide as saucers, looked ready to burst from excitement. "I thought Jarol had given up on the project. I thought it was deemed a fool's errand."

Nim shook her head. "Quite the opposite now that we've something to prove for our efforts. Irlav recently secured funding from the rest of the Council to establish another field site."

"Another Ayleid ruin?"

"What other type of ruin?" she giggled. "As far as I know there were no Dwarven settlment's south of Skyrim and Hammerfell nor West of Morrowind."

"Don't tell me you're interested in Dwemer artifacts too."

"No not at all," she smirked. "Repairing the Orrery at the University is just a little hobby of mine."

For a brief moment, Fathis was rendered speechless. "But Bothiel said the machinery was damaged beyond repair."

"Well there are alternatives, Fathis. I simply did what any collector would do." Nim experienced a brief flashback to the night she spent hunting down the dwemer artifacts needed for the Orrery. In the early hours of the morning when the bandits were still asleep, she had managed to sneak her way into the camps and lift the items right out of the carriers tent. Only once was her heist interrupted but a quick stab to the jugular sent the bandit right back to bed. Nim hoped that not all collectors required such violence in their acquisitions.

Fathis squinted his eyes and stared silently at Nim as the armor slowly disintegrated off her body. Nim, feeling suddenly very naked, clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her feet. She could practically see the gears in his mind turning as he studied her.

"I heard the shipment of replacement parts was stolen. I can't imagine recovering them was an easy task."

"No it was not. But important tasks seldom have easy solutions, what with the current state of the weather in Cyrodiil."

"Hmph," he snorted. "and here I was thinking you were going to be another lost cause,"

"My technique wasn't that bad," she muttered. It wasn't, right?

"I'm rather impressed, Nimileth." Fathis clapped his hands together. "I don't know many first-year students who would be willing to get their hands so dirty with another mage's projects. I thought all they did up at the University was force you to take useless classes from professors who were well passed their prime."

Nim had never heard another mage speak so critically about the academic rigor of a university education. She couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not.

"I've gotten far more than my hands dirty, I'll tell you that. It's the best way to learn."

Fathis eyed the Bosmer curiously, a little cautiously even.

"Just what kind of assignments has the Council been giving you?" Even for an elf, Nimileth looked young. He knew nothing of her skills outside of the very novice understanding of conjuration she had demonstrated, but if the Council was sending her to complete research expeditions it meant they trusted her to be a competent mage. And to recover a stolen shipment, well that required a whole other set of skills that Fathis was, perhaps, even more curious about.

"Oh, they'd make your head spin," she said, giving her head a little shake. Her tone suggested disapproval. If Fathis' interest wasn't already piqued, it certainly was now. "but Fathis, as much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I mustn't take up too much of your time. You're a busy man, I'm sure, and I've only got you for one lesson."

"What a tease," he jested. "Ayleid ruins, stolen dwarven artifacts, and risky assignments from the council? I'm not going to let you get away that easily. You still haven't told me how you ended up at Umbacano's manor _or_ how I happened to miss you."

"Oh that. Gods, it's quite an embarrassing story really." She looked away briefly, feigning bashfulness. "I wouldn't want to bore you."

"Bore me? My dear, this is the most excitement I've had in months."

"Are you always this chatty?" Nim asked playfully. "I'm on the clock here. You're not going to tell me I owe you 2,000 septims for your time afterwards, are you?"

Fathis laughed and shook his head firmly. "Tell you what. We'll consider this a complimentary lesson as long as you answer a few of my questions. You'll grant me that small pleasure, won't you?"

Nim narrowed her eyes. A small curl grew at the corners of her mouth.

When she didn't immediately reply, Fathis raised his eyebrows "No? That's not enough? You want two lessons?"

Nim pointed at the dining table. "I'm guessing this Varla stone isn't the only Ayleid artifact in your collection. Where are you keeping the rest?"

Fathis hesitated, looking to the Varla stone as though waiting for it to grant permission. "You're too curious."

"We're scholars. It's our nature. You wouldn't keep a young, up-and-coming Ayleid researcher from taking a few notes, would you? Who knows, maybe ten years from now when I'm a Master Wizard, I'll be leading digs. Maybe I'll let you see what we unearth and write you into the acknowledgments of my publications, hmm?"

The dunmer held up his hand. "Say no more. You've convinced me." He moved back to the far wall and gripped the column of an alcove. Nim held her breath, watching in shock as the wall fell to reveal a pitch black passage lined with stone bricks. He stepped into the hallway and waved Nim forward.

"I don't normally lead my guests through this passageway, but since we are already here we might as well. Follow me. It's a long walk to the tower so I hope you're ready to talk."

"As ready as I'll ever be," She said, casting starlight around them as she stepped into the narrow hall.

* * *

Nim followed as Fathis led her through his well-defended Grotto, awestruck by the expansiveness of the secret fortress. How long must it have taken to built, she wondered. Even if it was an already existing structure that Fathis had repurposed for his own use, it must have cost a small fortune to repair and refurbish. She wondered how the dunmer conjurer amassed so much wealth. The Bravil court paid well but not _that_ well.

Along the way they passed at least 1 dremora, 3 clanfears, and after the 12th atronach Nim stopped counting. The way the creatures eyed her twisted her stomach into a knot but she stuck close to Fathis' side and directed her attention to the path in front of them. They had been walking and talking for nearly 20 minutes, and Fathis was proving to be quite nosy. As much as she tried to skirt around his questions, he was not ashamed to call her out on her ambiguous answers. Thus far, he had managed to squeeze out a few vague details surrounding her early childhood in Kvatch before she directed the conversation to Umbacano's auction.

Prior to their meeting, Nim had prepared herself as well as she could to construct a convincing retelling of that night. Back at the University, she spent a solid hour interrogating Irlav Jarol for the guest list and asking what kinds of people are invited to Umbacano's auctions under the pretenses of familiarizing herself with the small group of Ayleid researchers in Cyrodiil. To concoct a believable, she decided to pick a name off the guest list that she recognized, for better or for worse, and claim him as her date.

"What was his name again?" Fathis asked. If he doubted her, he was doing well to hide it. His inquisitive tone was more curious than skeptical.

"Milvan. Lazare Milvan."

"And his father is a Lord, you say? Lord of what?"

"Lord of a pile of rocks for all I care," Nim replied with a scoff. "It's invitation only, and Umbacano doesn't know who I am. Yet."

"Oh?" the dunmer raised a brow.

"Well it's only a matter of time before we cross paths. I've only just started my work on Ayleid artifacts. But as I was saying, Umbacano and I hadn't met before and I needed a way into the auction. I would have asked Irlav to write to him, but he was ...preoccupied with his duties as a member of the Council." Nim waved her hand. "Anyway, Lazare Milvan needed a date. "

"And where did you meet this Lazare Milvan?"

Nim hoped that Fathis wasn't closely acquainted with the man, otherwise he would know that she was lying through her teeth. Irlav had mentioned Lazare's name when discussing Umbacano's guest list and after a little digging, she was surprised to find that she had actually met the Breton Noble once. He was a resident of Skingrad who occupied an expensive manor in the heart of the city. While Nim was completing her recommendation for the local guild chapter, she had been accosted by the man while having dinner at the West Weald Inn. She was sitting at his preferred table near the window when he approached her, demanding that she leave lest she like to press herself against the tip of his sword. At the time, she was a scraggly thing with a smaller penchant for trouble making. She left quietly but not before cutting his coin purse loose. Nim was quite certain Lazare Milvan would rather take a dog as his date than have her at his side at a social event.

"We met in Skingrad through a mutual acquaintance in the guild just some months ago. Maybe you don't mind going stag, but Lazare Milvan would never."

"Lazare Milvan…" Fathis repeated, trying to jog his memory.

"Oh if you met him, you would know. Short, medium build, Blonde, punchable face, carries a silver shortsword on his hip at all times, and refers to himself in the third-person as Sir Lazare Milvan in the most obnoxious tone imaginable."

Fathis stopped in his tracks and turned to face Nim. She held her breath.

"You are joking. You didn't actually attend with him, did you? How could you make it through the night?"

"With a bottle of Tamika's to console me."

Fathis laughed and shook his head. "You're braver than I thought. In truth, I've only spoken to him once but I think even that is more than I would prefer."

Nim nodded in agreement. "What is it with the people in Skingrad? It seems to attract the most pretentious people in Cyrodiil."

"Second only to the Arcane University," Fathis added with a snort. "Look. See that door? We're nearly there. "

Fathis waved his hand in front of the heavy wooden door, releasing a magical lock that held it tightly shut. Nim entered slowly, locking eyes, or rather faces, with the flame atronachs patrolling the ground floor. They sizzled as light pellets of rain landed across their bodies. Nim gazed skyward, shielding her eyes from the rain. They were on the ground floor of an old stone fort, though the mismatched bricks that made up the walls told her that repairs had been recently made. To their right was a wooden gate thrice her height that was bolted shut. His tower looked like any other imperial fortress, only with atronachs instead of human guards. Nim was willing to bet a thousand septims that it also possessed a heavy enchantment to keep the roaming marauders out. Kynareth knew they were all to plentiful in the lower Niben.

"Let's head up the stairs." The Dunmer said cheerfully. "That's where I'm working on my new display."

Nim followed after Fathis as they winded up the stairs. Fathis led her into his study, a large, cluttered room where he conducted the majority of his research and stored his most valuable possessions. Thankfully, the room was covered by a ceiling of stone to keep them dry.

The walls of the study were lined with shelves holding oddities and antiquities from jars of fetal trolls preserved in alcohol to ornate moonstone talismans crafted in the Khajiiti motif. Fathis watched as Nim slowly walked the perimeter of the room. He had a whole cabinet dedicated to Dwemer relics; gyroscopes, small cogs, even the metal hand of a centurion. Another to Ayleid urns decorated with welkynd insets. She pulled out the drawers of the cabinets, revealing his collection of pressed flora that he had brought with him from Morrowind. He chuckled to himself as he saw her repeatedly raise her hands, squeeze them into fists, and return them to her side, willing herself not to touch anything.

"By Kynareth, what an abomination." He heard her mutter under her breath. Fathis craned his neck to see her looking at the dried carapace of a small dreugh he had mounted to a wooden stand.

"Have you seen one before?"

"A land dreugh?" She nodded "Well, not alive. Never one so small and never one quite as well preserved as this one. The dead don't keep well in the humidity of the Blackwoods."

"The Dreughs are fully aquatic in their adult form. These are juveniles. They spend a few years of their life growing on land before entering a metamorphosis for sea-dwelling. We see them in many of the water bodies of Morrowind."

"Freshwater and saltwater?" She asked. Fathis nodded. "I had no idea they were the same species."

He had a remarkable collection of preserved fauna and pressed plants, many of which Nim had never seen in Cyrodiil before and a few which she recognized from the illustrations of guide books specific to the surrounding provinces. Fathis found it refreshing that she wasn't shy to admit ignorance and happily answered her questions when she spied something unfamiliar.

As Nim continued to poke around the cabinets she heard the quiet _pop_ of a wine bottle being uncorked. She glanced over her shoulder to see Fathis walking toward her with two silver goblets.

"Tamika?" He offered with a sly grin. "To help you get through the evening."

"A true gentlemen," she responded with the same playful tone and accepted the goblet. "I didn't even need to break out my flask."

Mid sip, she spied wooden chest behind the large desk at the far end of the room and suddenly remembered why she had come to the wizard's tower. For a brief moment, she thought to reprimand herself on becoming so easily distracted, but in truth she was having an incredibly pleasant experience with the Dunmer.

"So what do you think?"

"A wonderful blend. Pleasantly astringent and a soft smokey flavor from being stored in oak barrels." She took another sip and lightly smacked her lips. "A nice spiced finish, a little peppery even. Vintage 405?"

Fathis raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Umm, yes. It is," he replied. "However, I was referring to the collection."

"Oh," she paused. "You're a complete hoarder. It's marvelous."

"Thank you?" The Dunmer cocked of head. "I'm unconvinced that was a compliment."

"Oh it was!" she quickly assured him and placed her free hand on his arm. "I mean it. It's really a lovely assortment of curiosities. I wish there was such a collection at the University, or at least an herbarium. The material we learn in 'Fundamental Properties of Flora and Fauna' is centered around species native to Cyrodiil. I wish I could see more of Tamriel in general. This was a pleasant introduction."

Fathis smiled at her. "If that is really what you want, I think you will have no problem doing so. Come, let us sit." He motioned towards two armchairs in the corner of the room and took his seat. With a flick of his finger, he lit the wicks of the candles set out on the table between them and folded his hands in his lap.

"Alright, you've told me how you managed to weasel your way into Umbacano's auction, and I've told you about my collection. Now tell me about yourself."

"Pardon?" Nim shifted uneasily in her seat. "What else do you want to know"

"I want to know how a little thing like you ended up in a place like this."

Nim snorted at his words. Fathis was a little startled to see her eyes narrow in displeasure.

"Do not call me 'little thing' unless you want me to call you an ancient draugr."

"Noted, my apologies. How old are you then- 400?"

"Close," she replied with a smirk. " I'll be eighteen in Second Seed."

Fathis cleared his throat and chose his next words with greater care. "So then enlighten me. How were you able to attain the rank of Conjurer so quickly. When did you join our guild?"

Nim sighed and downed the remaining wine in her goblet. She hadn't fully disclosed the history of her short life to anyone in full detail, not even Methredhel. Although she trusted Fathis with a gut intuition that was quite uncharacteristic for her, she wasn't planning on revealing everything to him either. With a wave of his hand, Fathis floated the bottle from across the room to the table between them and refilled her cup.

"So much of it is luck, Fathis. Being in the right place at the right time. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it is true. And the rest well, when you're as young and small as I am, you have to be resourceful. I joined the Bravil chapter when I was sixteen. Kud-Ei was hesitant to accept someone my age, but she was in a terrible state at the time. I'm sure you remember what happened to Henantier."

Fathis nodded his head. He considered both Henantier and Kud-Ei good friends. Thus, he was shocked and quite upset when he found out that Kud-Ei hadn't asked him for help at the start of the incident.

"So you were the one to rescue Henantier from the Dream World. Kud-Ei was short with the details, but I suppose I know why given the situation."

"Yes, I asked them to keep my identity anonymous, though they had their reasons for privacy as well. Henantier's experiment broke many of the guilds regulations, as creative as it was. We all wanted to draw as little attention to the whole ordeal as possible. I just came along at the right time. Afterwards, Kud-Ei allowed me to join as an Associate and provided me with a recommendation.

I trained with Delphine as much as possible and practiced alchemy to make a bit of gold to support myself while travelling to the remaining guilds. One by one, I earned my recommendations. It took about half a year and most of that time was spent convincing a select few guild leaders that I was serious in my pursuit. Falcar gave me the most trouble, but knowing what we do now, that shouldn't be too surprising. He did try to kill me." Nim paused. Sometimes the severity of her brief encounter with Falcar's eluded her.

"So it wasn't an over-exaggeration," Fathis mused before catching sight of Nim's glaring expression. He had heard about Falcar's disappearance and subsequent expulsion from the guild from whispers that passed his ears in the Bravil Guild Hall, but he had not spoken with any first-hand witnesses. "That was terribly insensitive of me. Rumors have a tendency to compound on their journey down to Bravil. You can never be sure what's hyperbole."

Nim shrugged. "A little skepticism is perfectly healthy."

"No word on his whereabouts?" Fathis asked. He was leaning in closer now than he was at the start of their conversation. Nim looked down at his goblet. He hadn't taken a sip since she started talking.

"I don't think the Council would tell me even if they knew," she sighed. "We've been butting heads about how to deal with the rise of necromancy in Cyrodiil."

"Oh?" The authority and conviction in her voice piqued his interest. He knew of the rumors - necromancers and spies embedded within the guild. But wasn't that all they were, rumors? Unfounded fodder for the gossips to circulate. Falcar was a one-off incident, wasn't it? And even if there was reason to fear, of all body of mages within Cyrodiil the Council should know best how to handle the regrettable circumstances.

"Do you really not know what's going on?" Nim asked with furrowed brows. Fathis, unsure of how to respond, gave a slight shrug. Nim shook her head at him lightly and tutted. "I really fear for the future of our guild. Keeping quiet about the tragedies we've encountered won't make the problem disappear. Two mages murdered in the Wellspring Cave. Necromancers lurking in the Skingrad court. Falcar is not an isolated incident. I have a feeling there are more hiding among our ranks." Nim scanned the Dunmer's puzzled face. "You really hadn't heard of this?"

"I'm ashamed to say I haven't," Fathis muttered as he slumped back in his chair. When had he grown so out of touch? Since his appointment to Court Wizard, he spent long periods away from the Arcane University, and the nature of his independent research gave him little reason to maintain contact with most mages he once knew who still resided there. Recently, he had been holed up in his study while working on a manuscript detailing the fauna of the Nibenay Basin, anything to keep him out of the court and away from the Bravil nobility. His visits to the local chapter were mostly to share drinks and stories related to their scholarly pursuits but they were seldom related to the broader state of guild affairs, and even then his visits had become fewer and farther in between. In fact, most of his time now-a-days was dedicated to hunting down rare artifacts for pleasure rather than academic purposes.

Fathis listened quietly as Nim detailed her encounters with the dark forces of necromancy and her frustrations with the Council's insistence to remain inactive. She was trying her hardest to provide well-grounded criticism and avoid unnecessarily bad-mouthing her superiors in front of the Court Wizard, but from the startled look on his face as she recounted her mission in Skingrad, she could tell he was far removed from the Council's inner circle. He did little to hide the alarm of his expression when he learned that the Council had willingly sent a novice mage alone and uninformed into a necromancers trap. Slowly, the shock melted into a grimace of disgust. Now faced with the painful awareness of his ignorance on the current events within the guild, Fathis grew stiff with embarrassment.

"The Council wants more information about them, but they're too vague in their requests," she continued. "We can't waste anymore time standing idly by as the necromancers grow in numbers. Whether the Council approves of it or not, I'm going to uncover the true extent of their infiltration. I need to learn more about how the necromancers are operating, what practices they're using in their twisted sorcery, but-" Nim paused and drew in a deep breath. "Fathis,"

"Yes?" He leaned forward as he replied.

"Drink your wine. You look too serious. It's making me... nervous."

"Ah, I look too serious? And here you are talking about cleansing the guild of its dark underbelly right under the nose of the Council." Fathis was unsettled by the fact that he was learning of the rampant problem for the first time from a seventeen-year-old girl. He had been distracted by her story-telling, captivated by the morbid news of the world he had been ignoring and the fervor with which he spoke. He did as was suggested and took a full sip. "For such a young- I mean _new_ member, the Council seems to be asking a lot of you, and they don't seem to be providing you with adequate assistance. That sounds like quite a weight to bear."

"What, my shoulders don't look supportive enough?" Nim smirked, pulling at the collar of her dress.

"I would never suggest such a thing," Fathis placed a hand over his chest, feigning shock. "Most mages of your rank have never seen battle or bloodshed. You must be very talented if the Council has this much faith in you."

"I wouldn't say that," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I just have a knack for coming into things at the right time, when a set of free hands are needed for example."

"And a knack for appearing at the wrong time too," Fathis added with a slight squint. "Like when necromancers are attacking the Wellspring Cave."

Nim sighed and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose I've seen plenty of those too."

"I would like to see your skills speak for themselves, if you don't mind."

Nim cocked her head curiously at his request. "Well I certainly hope no one else is speaking for them. What would you have me do?"

"A little demonstration perhaps. You're clearly a skilled fighter if you can take on multiple necromancers by yourself and live to tell me about it. Show me how you do that."

"Alright then." Nim nodded and stood to her feet. She moved into the center of the room, standing opposite from the doorway and pointed toward the empty space in front of her. "Conjure something."

Without moving a muscle, Fathis called upon two skeletons, both armed. One raised it's bow at Nim from the far side of the room beneath the arch of the entrance to the room.. The other unsheathed it's shortsword, preparing to charge.

As soon as the skeleton farthest from her released the first shot, Nim cast a telekinesis spell to direct the arrow into the back of the other skeleton's skull. The arrow cracked through the brittle bone, and the skeleton fell forward, disarticulating upon impact with the stone. She then released a burst of flames from her palms, sending a ball of fire hurdling into the marksman's chest so forcefully that it pushed the skeleton over the edge of the walkway. It's body clattered to the ground with a satisfying _crack_.

The whole encounter lasted no more than ten seconds. Fathis was ready to applaud when the little elf vanished before his eyes. The collapsed skeleton had disintegrated away in front of him, returning back to the realm of Oblivion he had called it from. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the room, watching for any sign of movement.

"Hello?" He called out, only to be greeted by the light _pitter-patter_ of rain falling through the leaves and against the stone fort. He stood to his feet and walked to the center of the room. "Nimileth?" The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled. He readied his mind, preparing to cast a detect life spell when he felt the cool edge of a blade pressed against his neck and a small hand hold his head steady. His body went rigid as stone as he felt the magicka flow from the slender fingers on his jaw, sending a chilling paralysis through his muscles.

"And that's how you take three of them out," Nim's voice appeared at his ear. She pulled the blade away from the dunmer and dropped her invisibility shroud. He felt a wave of relief spread through his body as she cast a cure spell over him, releasing his muscles from their stiffness.

Fathis turned around to face her, his mouth slightly agape as he held his hand to his throat where the blade had been seconds ago. He looked down at her hand which clutched an ornate elven dagger. "Is that mine?" He asked pointing at the blade.

Nim's eyes widened as a burst of electric panic shot through her. She had pickpocketed it off of him while he was distracted with her disappearance and then proceeded to use it to threaten his life. What was she thinking?

"Yes," she squeaked.

"I didn't notice you take it."

"Unsurprising. Your guard was down." She scanned the Dunmer's face. He peered down at her, still slack-jawed. "You're not mad at me are you? I wasn't going to keep it."

"Nor did I hear you approaching."

"I'm light-footed." She said. Nim didn't understand why this seemed to come as a shock to him. With her hand still clutching the dagger, she motioned from her shoulder down to her knee, emphasizing her small frame. "It's just the way I'm built. "

Fathis shook his head. "I think you're being far too modest. How did you paralyze me? I had a resist-magic charm cast on me since this morning."

Nim raised her brows at that. "Paranoid are you? I silenced you first." She paused, repeating the words she had just said over in her head. "I suppose you have good reason for it then."

Fathis shook his head again. "But how could you tell?"

"I didn't" she shrugged. Fathis remained perplexed and he certainly wasn't satisfied with her reply. She realized he was waiting for her to elaborate when he didn't respond.

"If I'm taking on an opponent who is skilled in magic, I assume they have protected themselves with magic. I'm not particularly talented, just resourceful." She flipped the dagger in her palm and pointed the hilt in the Dunmer's direction. "I'm sure it would be much more difficult to kill you if you were aware that was my intention. And skeletons, really? Were you scared I would hurt myself if you conjured something with flesh?"

Fathis stopped rubbing the skin of his throat to return the dagger to his sheathe. He released a low chuckle, but Nim could see by the faraway glint in his eye that he was distracted in thought. She had cast four different spells and disarmed him in less than a minute. Fathis had spent enough time with mages to know that luck alone did not explain that.

"I'm sorry- I'm just having a hard time processing this. You're a 17-year-old Conjurer capable of downing at least three necromancers at once with no formal training?"

"Not this again," the bosmer sighed. "I told you, it's not a matter of skill, its-"

"I just watched you obliterate two skeletons and hold a blade to my throat in a matter of seconds. Either you're lying to me about your identity or you have more experience than you're letting on."

Nim startled briefly at the Dunmer's words. He maintained his grin, but she could sense his growing frustration. "I'm an illusionist. I know a handful of basic spells and throw them together to look impressive. I told you, I trained at every chance I had. I sold potions and poisons to pay for lessons. Collecting ingredients is free so the only cost was my time really. And what is my time so valuable for anyway?"

Fathis narrowed her eyes at the nonchalant tone of her voice and flippant shrugs.

"But you must have had some understanding of magicka before you joined the guild. You couldn't start training from zero and perform at the level you are now in little over a year. You forget that I've been training other mages in conjuration for decades." Though the corner of his lips were still curled into a small smile, Fathis' tone was no longer playful. "I know what the learning curve is like."

"Okay, I'll admit that I knew some magic before I joined the Mages Guild. A bit over a year ago, I found myself in Bravil training to be a healer under Marz."

"Marz?" Fathis ran through the members of the local chapter in his head. "I don't recall anyone by that name."

Nim shook her head. "She's not a mage. She's a priestess of Mara."

"The Chapel? You're a devotee of Nine?"

"I say my prayers and offer my thanks," she said with yet another small shrug. "I'm not sure why you sound surprised. The Nine have guided and protected me all my life."

"And I'll bet you suspect me to believe you're skill is a gift from Julianos himself," Fathis scoffed.

"Hey," Nim furrowed her brows and jabbed a finger into the air in front of the Dunmer's chest. "Now what's that supposed to mean? Why couldn't it be so? Maybe a Telvanni wizard has no reason to worship the Aedra, but there are plenty of Gods-fearing mages. I don't appreciate having my beliefs belittled."

"I never told you I belong to House Telvanni," Fathis took a step away from Nim, whose finger was held firmly an inch away from his sternum.

Nim rolled her eyes. "I asked around about you, _hello_. We have mutual acquaintances."

"I never told Henantier about my association. I was expelled before I left Morrowind."

Nim felt her heart beat furiously against her chest and prayed that Fathis did not have a detect life spell active to see her pulsating aura. She hadn't meant to let evidence of prying slip. "No, but…" she stalled, excuses racing through her mind, "the Council knows."

She had no idea if the Council knew. Fathis paused.

"Irlav told you?"

"I did my research before I came."

"Hmph," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. He continued to eye her suspiciously. "I understand learning the fundamentals of alchemy and restoration from a healer but I doubt they have much use for illusion and destruction magic in prayer. And I certainly doubt they teach you any combat or pickpocketing in the chapel either. "

"No, they do not. What a keen observation." Nim's stomach tightened as the Dunmer's expression changed. She watched grimly as apprehensiveness rose to irritation and then faded into pained confusion. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I sense you're not being honest with me, and I don't understand why."

Nim stared blankly at Fathis and scratched her forehead. "Well, maybe you should just drink some more wine. Don't be so serious."

The two elves stood unmoving in the center of the study, the quiet broken only by the soft trickle of rain and sizzle as it hit the atronach moving along the walkway outside of the room. Nim watched silently as Fathis walked across the room and returned to his seat. He brought the goblet to his lips and swallowed a small sip.

"I can't help but feel as though you didn't really come for lessons, Nimileth."

"Don't be silly," she scoffed and waved her hand flippantly to the side despite the immense weight that grew in her belly as the knot had metamorphosed into a ball of lead. "Of course I did. You saw my conjuration first hand. I'm useless."

"No, I think we both know that you'd be fine without my help," he said, shaking his head softly.

Nim could hear the blood flowing through her ears. She hadn't noticed when the effects of the courage spell wore off but there was no doubt that panic was now settling in. Her mind was racing so fast that a dull throb pounded behind her eyes. As tangled and suffocated as she felt within her web, she maintained her nonchalant expression, refusing to break eye contact with Fathis

"Maybe I want it anyway."

"Why?" He asked, taking another sip.

"Because I don't know anything about necromancy, and you do." Words were flying from her mouth before she even had time to process them in her throbbing brain. "Don't tell me that in all your time within House Telvanni you haven't learned anything that could help us."

"Necromancy was banned in Morrowind long before Traven banned its use in Cyrodiil. What makes you think I'd know anything?"

"It was banned from being performed on Dunmer. There were no laws preventing its use on the other races. You must know something. Someone must know something."

Fathis sighed and hung his head. "I could be banned for admitting to this."

"Who will I tell? I'm desperate Fathis. You don't know what it's like working with the Council. How can such powerful people be so useless?"

The wizard chuckled at that, his grin returning for a brief moment before he hid it with a long gulp of wine.

"I admire your gumption. We need more critical voices in the guild. You've adequately demonstrated your skills as a mage among _other things_ and for that, I can say I am thoroughly impressed." He paused and motioned for Nim to return to the seat next to him. She held her breath as he refilled his goblet. "But you're still a liar. I just don't know what you're lying about."

"Well how is that relevant to my fight against necromancy?" Nim huffed.

"Aha, so you admit it!" A wide, satisfied smile spread across his face.

Nim opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. She was toeing a thin line already, and had thus far received nothing from Fathis that she came for. Though he was wonderful company, she came to meet him with a specific purpose. He had information and a very particular arrow that she wanted, and all she had received was wine and suspicious glares.

"I've got to maintain some aura of mystery, don't I?"

"Well how do you expect me to part with my secrets if you won't part with yours?" It was his turn to shrug. "I need to know that I can trust you."

"So what, you want to trade a little bit of dirt?"

Fathis nodded cheerfully. "That's exactly what I want."

"Fine, but we'll need another bottle of wine." Nim accepted defeat and slumped backward into the chair. She raised her goblet for a refill. "To loosen the tongue."

With a wave of his hand, Fathis floated another bottle across the room to the table between them. With a snap of his fingers, the bottle was uncorked and slowly pouring into her cup. He raised his own goblet to meet hers with the same sly, playful grin she had seen earlier in the day. "Let's start digging then, shall we?"


	10. The Art of the Deal

**Chapter 10: The Art of the Deal**

"The long version or the short version?" Nim asked as she leaned into the backrest of the armchair. Her entire frame was engulfed by a thick bear-fur blanket that Fathis had thrown over her when he saw her shivering. She wrapped it around herself so only her head and a slender arm holding a wine goblet was visible among the mass of brown fur. The rain had progressed from a light drizzle to flowing sheets of water since they uncorked the second bottle. The sky poured along with the wine.

Fathis held up a hand and shook his head. "Tell me the whole story and I'll give you any information you want. No games. Grant me that small pleasure, won't you."

"Alright," she nodded, her voice ending in a high pitch. "But I hope you're not expecting much. I grew up in an orphanage in Kvatch. A terribly dirty and overcrowded one, but I don't suppose any of them are particularly lavish. If you believe the headmistress, my mother was a whore and my father was an imga and that is why I am so small. Maybe some of it is true. There is no way of double checking anyway. When I was eight, the Count decided to tear down the orphanage to erect a stadium for the new arena. 'To stimulate the economy.' Of course none of the paperwork was saved. They probably used it as tinder to start the fire to burn the thing down. I was one of the lucky ones, as they say. Instead of being turned loose into the streets, I was sent to work in Castle Kvatch as a servant girl. I mostly stocked supplies and helped in the kitchen. After a year or so, they let me help the chamber maids clean the bedrooms, but it didn't last long. I had very sticky fingers."

"Ah, so you started young," Fathis teased.

"Started _what_ young?" she asked and shot him a dirty look. Fathis appeared quite pleased with himself as he sipped his wine. By the lull of his eyelids, Nim could tell he was pleasantly buzzed but considering she had drank most of the previous bottle, he still had a lot of catching up to do.

"Please, Nimileth. I don't suppose my pocket was the first you picked from. No, your movements flowed much too seamlessly. Naturally, if I may."

"Hmph, you may kindly not interrupt again. Where was I? One day the guards caught onto my side hustle. I escaped a stern beating from the head-of-staff by launching myself out the window of the castle. I was in terrible condition, but I was more scared of getting caught than anything else. You know, they instill the fear of authority in you at a young age. I fled the city. I ran through the West Weald for what felt like hours. I don't know how far I got before I passed out from exhaustion.

With no where else to go I just stayed in the forest. For months, I wandered aimlessly through the wilderness cold and starving with nothing but the clothes I fled from Kvatch in. I stayed away from the roads, afraid that I would get whisked back to that godsforsaken city if the guards found me alone. As Winter approached, the vegetable gardens and fruit trees I had been stealing withered from the chill. Even the edible wild plants and rabbits became rare finds. It grew colder and I was slowly withering away too as more days that I went to sleep unfed passed, and every morning I was shocked to find that I hadn't died in my sleep. Eventually, I didn't have the energy to get up. I spent all day sleeping, waking only to find water, and eventually I stopped doing that too.

Then one day I awoke in a warm cabin being tended to by three women. Two of them were young, an imperial and a dunmer, with kind, soft faces. The third was an older breton woman, worn and sun weatherd. They had found me while on their way back home from a pilgrimage to a shrine up in the Great Forest, or so they said. I didn't question it. They could have left me there just as well. I had managed to make it to the Yellow Road before collapsing and they carried me on down into their cabin in the Nibenay Valley. They didn't ask me many questions either. Only if I had family looking for me. I said no.

From what I had seen, the women lived a simple life, a godly life. They raised their own livestock and grew fresh produce and only passed through nearby towns to trade once a month or so. When I regained the strength to walk, I helped tend the vegetable garden, fed their sheep and chickens, fetched the water, swept, anything to make myself useful. I would hear them praying at dawn, and saw them dance naked beneath the twin moons as they worshiped. I thought they were priestesses of the Kynareth. I thought the divines had taken me out of Kvatch and put me into the wilderness to grow closer to my faith. I asked to join the women and they accepted me."

"And when did you realize they weren't priestesses?" The dunmer interrupted. He was staring at her with intense curiosity.

Nim paused. She hadn't told anyone this part of her story before, and for good reason. Being an orphan was one thing, being a thief another, but what was to come? She looked over at Fathis who was now nearly on the edge of his seat despite her not having said anything particularly riveting thus far. She sighed.

"On the night of my initiation. I had been with the women for nearly a year at that time. They taught me how to forage for food and medicinal herbs, to hunt deer and small game, and they showed me the basics of alchemy. I learned how to brew healing salves and potions to restore fatigue, even a few fun ones with night-eye and water breathing properties. I learned quickly and they welcomed my questions. Eventually I asked the youngest, Giada, if she could teach me how to wield magic, and she did. I didn't realize it could be so simple. I learned the basics of restoration and some spells to use around the farm like how to harness the luminescence of starlight to guide my way through the forest and how to call upon flame to start the hearthfire. I learned rapidly and grew insatiable. I wanted to see how far I could push myself. I wanted to know what else I could do with this gift. To feel the magicka coursing through me was…breathtaking. I never felt so in control, so connected to something larger than myself. They told me that to learn more, I must meet the Webspinner, the Teacher of the Secret Arts."

Fathis' eyes flew open as the name left her lips. Nim didn't wait for him to speak before continuing. If she didn't get it out now, she wasn't sure she would ever be able to.

"Though they spoke kindly and with excitement, deep down I knew I was treading on the edge of something dangerous. I convinced myself this was another name for Kynareth, but I knew they did not pray to the Divines. That night they slaughtered a lamb and painted runes across my body with it's blood. All of us disrobed and I followed them into the Blackwoods. We walked for hours until we reached the ritual site. We prayed in the darkness to Mephala that she weave power and strength into my destiny."

"To Mephala!" Fathis made no motion to hide his shocked expression. "I had anticipated that they were witches, but daedra worship? I guess you jumped in head first."

"Is there another way to jump in?" Nim asked though she wasn't particularly interested in an answer. She waved her hand, dismissing the question. "Of all people, I'd think It wouldn't be so strange to you."

"Why, because I'm a Dunmer?" He chuckled. "Daedra worship may not be taboo in Dark Elf society, but I rarely hear anyone outside of Morrowind speak openly about their practice, even other Dunmer. In the rare instances where I have met a follower here in the heartland, their worship is much different than what you see among those who follow pre-Tribunal traditions. The Daedra worshippers here are… strange. Mostly unpleasant zealots or full blown cultists with no structure reminiscent of Velothi religion." Fathis paused. A sudden grimness swept over him as he sat silently in thought. Nim suspected that he was revisiting memories from his life in Morrowind.

"Everything alright?" She asked. She took the time to unfold her legs and stretch them out in front of her.

"Hmm?" Fathis looked up and shook his head. "Yes, fine. So how did it feel to find out you had just joined a daedric cult?"

Nim stared pensively into her goblet as she recalled her initiation into the coven. "Well in that moment I had no idea what a Mephala was but I was sure it wasn't Kynareth." Suddenly in her mind's eye she was a child again, walking through the Blackwoods as though under a spell and unable to control the movement of her legs as they carried her forward. The forest surrounding her pulsated unnaturally. Her skin prickled as the presence of an otherworldly being made itself known to her. The earth beneath her quaked with each step and she felt the power rise in her.

Fathis raised a curious eyebrow. A smile crept across Nim's face as she recalled the terror she felt that night so many years ago. "It was exhilarating."

"Hmm, not what I was expecting from someone who claims to be a devotee of the Nine." Nim was surprised to hear his tone betray a slight disappointment. "I didn't think you would be so quick to accept a deity known as the 'Queen of the Eight Shadows of Murder.'"

"Eh," she rocked her head side to side. "You know how it is. The Temple paints Mephala's sphere as one of deceit and lie, one of betrayal, but nothing is quite as simple. She is the dichotomy of creation and destruction, and her web holds the harsh realities from which we turn our heads. Mephala gives voice to the horror we see but dare not speak of. Through worship, we decipher her secrets. She shows us how to confront the ugliness in the world from the shadow and turn weakness into strategy."

"That sounds like a lot of words that equate to manipulation," Fathis tutted.

Nim shrugged and took a sip of wine. "Look at me. I am rife with weakness. I can't overcome an enemy on brute force alone. In Mephala's sphere the cunning have the upper hand and with a few whispers into the right ears, your influence can span a nation."

"A few whispers, huh," he said, scrunching his nose in distaste. By the sullen tone of his voice, Nim was sure she had irritated him. "Mephala is the patron deity of the Morag Tong, you know."

Nim rolled her eyes. "I wasn't born yesterday. Of course I know. But not all murder is equal. I would rather see one king assassinated then thousands of innocents sacrificed over a war waged by a few who won't ever suffer its costs."

"You speak like a politician," Fathis scoffed. "Of the dunmeri variety in particular, and dunmeri values are not ones I am particularly fond of. I left Morrowind for good reasons." She had definitely struck a nerve.

"Maybe in Morrowind they authorize assasination in the name of Mephala, but I was only ten when I was brought into this coven. I wasn't executing high-ranking officials. I was an orphan trying to keep myself alive. It must be easy to reflect on your cushioned life and pick and choose what's right and wrong. Maybe you think a little deception has no place in civil society, but I doubt you've ever had to wonder where your next meal came from. Mephala didn't teach me to murder. She taught me how to survive when the only thing you can rely on is the set of skills in your possession."

Fathis slouched back in his chair and brought his goblet to his lips. "It sounds like we've gleaned different lessons from her teachings."

"Maybe, or maybe we just apply them differently. I don't claim to know more about Mephala than you, but I would be a fool to have spent so many years in worship and not be able to take a single thing from it. "

"Fair enough," he replied, holding up his hands. "I admit it was small-minded of me to jump to judgement, but having seen her sphere of influence within my own government, I cannot stray from the representation of sex, lies, and murder that I was conditioned to. I was certainly not expecting any defense on your behalf. Do you still consider yourself a follower?"

Nim wondered how drastically Fathis' opinion of her had changed since they began their conversation. "I... am unsure. I was with the coven for five years. I am often tempted to imitate her strengths. She is a seductress and a rogue, but those things don't always necessitate violence. In fact, they can often be used to avoid it. Her influence weighs heavily on me to this day.

The night I was initiated, Mephala appeared to me in a dream. She came as a small spider with red eyes. She crawled onto my chest and spoke to me as I laid paralyzed in bed. She told me that my days here with the coven were numbered. That I would leave and accomplish great, terrible things, things that would shape the future irrevocably. She said that by day I was to be nothing more than shadow, a little blip in existence to be trampled over and swept aside, and that the days will be long and grueling. But when the sun falls, I will come to know the night like it were my own skin. I feel bound to her, in some way. She has allowed me to find purpose where before i saw only pain."

"Huh, I suppose I understand your penchant for illusion magic then."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"More deceit and manipulation."

Nim scowled at the Dunmer who was looking quite amused by how much his words irked her. He continued on.

"And you really believe it was really Mephala speaking to you? Not just the mind of a child running wild?"

"The words have shaped me whether they were my own or not. I was petrified and comforted by them all at once. The gods had never spoke to me as clearly as she did that night. There's no use questioning it now. "

"Hah, have the gods ever spoken to you?" He asked derisively.

"Of course they have," she hissed and bit her tongue as she watched Fathis roll his eyes. "but I wouldn't expect a heathen like you to understand," she added a cheeky grin to lighten the mood.

"Me a heathen?" he laughed heartily. "You're the daedra worshipper."

"I've repented for my transgressions. We weren't bad people. We made an honest living as alchemists and healers when we weren't harvesting souls for our Prince. "

Fathis opened his mouth, ready to object. He paused and wagged a finger at Nim with a toothy smile. "Ah, you're joking with me, aren't you?"

Nim shrugged and gave a small grin. "Let's not ask questions we don't want the answers to."

"Ok, let's continue on then. When did you leave the coven?"

"Two and a half years ago give or take."

Fathis looked unamused when she didn't elaborate. "Well, what caused you to leave?""

"I was probably 14 or nearly so when Olette, the eldest, started to get ill. Our cabin was east of Leyawiin, about an hours walk. They would send me into town to restock supplies we couldn't produce or grow. We needed bloodgrass for the treatment, and the only hope of acquiring some was from the alchemists at the Mages guild. Leyawiin is a pretty city, but it's led by human trash. Back then it was a festering cesspool for skooma manufacturers and mercenaries. I didn't enjoy my visits."

"That doesn't sound so different from how it is presently."

"You're right. Leyawiin was just as soggy then as it is now and the Countess is still a bitch. Not much else to say to that." She threw her hands up into the air. "But everything changed for me when I-" Fathis leaned in as she paused. He was surprised to see the bosmer blush as she stammered. "Um, it was around this time that I met-"

"Don't tell me it was because of a man," he groaned, shaking his head. "How anticlimactic."

Nim feigned outrage and stuck out her tongue. "Well, I was young and pubescent. I hadn't had any social interaction with children my age since I left Kvatch and didn't know the first thing about controlling my impulses. I fell in love with the first handsome scoundrel that would give me the time of day, J'rasha. He was a skooma runner, but hell, I think the danger made him all the more alluring."

Fathis raised his eyebrows in high arches. "J'rasha?"

"What? I might not have the best taste in character but if you saw him- phew," she brushed her hand to the side and released a low whistle. "He was gorgeous."

"A Khajiit?"

"You're in Cyrodiil now, Fathis," Nim rolled her eyes and gave a saucy smirk. "Try to be more progressive."

"Alright, I was just-" Fathis held up his hands in defeat. "Never mind."

"I frequented the city as often as I could just to see him. He was a known trouble-maker, a petty thief, a swindler. He was part of an operation that ran out of the slum-side of town. A bunch of cut-throats. Dirty, smelly, and probably all dead by now. He was a terrible influence on me."

"And Mephala was not?"

"Are you going to bring this up again?" she frowned.

Fathis shook his head.

"Eventually, he convinced me to run away with him. I think the other members of the coven knew. They didn't try to stop me. I didn't own anything but a few sets of clothes anyway, it was easy. He had family in town, an Aunt, two cousins, and a younger sister that all lived together. We bounced around houses together, staying wherever there was an empty bed that night.

J'rasha taught me how to pick a lock, how to tread lightly to avoid making sound. I kept watch when he ran heists and balanced the books for their little skooma den. Sometimes I would even sell for them. I knew a few charm spells that could bring in extra gold if I spoke the right kinds of words.

He bought me my first glass of wine, a cheap make I can't even remember the name of, but he told me if I stayed with him I would never have to pay for my own drinks again. I didn't bother telling him that I had never had a drink prior to meeting him."

"A true gentlemen," the dunmer quipped. "I can only wonder how I hold up in comparison."

"Well you do have a much finer taste in wine, but considering I haven't learned a single drop of conjuration from you, I'd say you pale in comparison. J'rasha showed me a bit of combat too. I was already fair with a bow, but he taught me how to wield a blade, just a small one."

Fathis smirked. "Is that a euphemism for-"

"No you dirty old s'wit!" she reached out with the corner of the bear pelt and slapped it playfully across his arm. "I was talking about a dagger. He taught we how to wield a dagger. On the contrary, he was very well endowed."

"So…" Fathis' voice trailed. "is it true what they say about khajiiti men?"

"Yes, it is," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Why? You curious?"

The two broke out into deep raucous laughter, and Nim concluded that she was indeed drunk. She was very pleased that the tension of their earlier conversation had dissipated. She didn't think Fathis could be so serious.

"Ah, but it wasn't enough to keep you around. I'm guessing the romance fizzled out."

Nim stared deeply into her cup and leaned her head back against the chair. "Not exactly," she sighed. "There was a great purge going on in the city during those years. The Countess-" Nim bit her tongue to keep from launching into a tirade on how she _truly_ felt about that vile sload of a woman. "The Countess was and is to this day a staunch bigot who values only the Imperial-centered way of life. She was pushing a very unfavorable agenda, well unfavorable to some races. You know of this don't you?"

Fathis responded with a nod. "Leyawiin has been in a state of transition since the Empire acquired land that once belonged to Elsweyer. There are many upset parties, and rightfully so."

"'Acquired,'" Nim repeated adding little air quotes around the word. "Another word for confiscated."

"Well," Fathis cocked his head to the side. "The Mane settled the deal with the Count Caro. It was a legal agreement."

"Murder is a legal agreement when done by the Morag Tong, is it not?"

"Hey," he raised a finger into the air and shook it at Nim. "I thought we agreed not to bring this up."

"Fine. But the land was forcibly cleared of all it's native inhabitants and many of them fled eastward into Leyawiin. What choice did they have? Well according to Alessia Caro, there were far too many beast folk in Leyawiin now, and everyone knows it's the Khajiit and Argonians that are responsible for the crime. She instructed the guards to arrest first and question later when they came across suspicious people in suspicious places. J'rasha- he was among them."

Fathis cast a quick side eye at the girl. "You did admit he was skooma runner."

"The Skooma trade is a symptom of a larger disease that plagues the Empire. You don't think J'rasha would have preferred a safer, more legitimate livelihood? He was orphaned at seven-years-old when his parents were kidnapped by slavers and the only family left to take him in were dirt-poor after their land had been taken away from them by the Empire. How are you supposed to make a life for yourself on swamp water and cypress knees? You scrape by to feed your baby sister. You sell your body to put clothes on your child's back. You take any job that pays, even if it puts your own life at risk. These communities don't know any other way of life, Fathis. Everyone is simply trying to survive.

And that's not the whole of it. The Countess wasn't just arresting criminals, she was arresting the innocent as well. Beggars, the impoverished, new immigrants. Anyone that had no voice and was powerless against them. It's so much worse than just that, Fathis. There's a chamber in the castle. It's only accessible if you know where to look. There's a chamber where the Countess takes her prisoners to interrogate them. For what information, who can be sure, but the people that enter never leave."

"What are you talking about, Nimileth?" Fathis recoiled. "Are you really claiming that the Count and Countess are torturing their constituents, that they are murdering them?"

"How can a man as intelligent as you are make yourself so ignorant?" Nim scrunched her nose and groaned. "Of course that's what I am saying. Is it really that hard to believe?"

"It's one thing to say they despise the beast folk. I lived in Morrowind for most of my life, I know that racism is alive and well throughout Tamriel. But the Count of Leyawiin torturing innocent civilians for no reason?" Fathis shook his head." I just find it improbable that they'd take such a risk."

"A risk!" she chortled. "How could it be a risk if they never face any consequences? Would you believe me if I told you I saw it with my own eyes?" Nim felt a lump form in the back of her throat as she recalled the night she snuck into the castle. She squeezed her fist tight around the neck of the goblet. Fathis' face softened as he saw her dour expression. "When J'rasha went missing, I poked around. I heard the rumors so I went looking for the truth. I found a hidden passageway concealed in the basement of the castle that led to a secret room. It was everything that I heard it would be and somehow so much worse. I-" Nim cleared her throat as her voice cracked. "The image will be burned into my mind forever."

She felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder and pivoted toward the dunmer. "Nimileth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive." She set her goblet down and took his hand into her lap, fiddling with his fingers as she continued.

"The smell hit me first, a sickly-sweet decay that had been brewing for days. The scent of blood was so strong I could taste the iron in my mouth before I even reached the door. When I entered, I found six bodies. Some hung to the walls by chains, some strewn across the floor. One was… just a child. An argonian boy, younger than me. And his mother was right there next to him, Fathis. Gods her face, her-" Nim grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. She took a moment to regain her breath. "J'rasha was there. They'd been pulling out his claws one by one. He was cut all over, missing toes, missing teeth. It wasn't swift. He must have been in agony for hours before Arkay reclaimed him."

Fathis stirred in his seat. Nim suspected that he wanted to offer his condolences but she had accepted her lover's cruel death long ago. Words did nothing to bring him back now. Words did nothing to bring justice to his murderers.

"Yes, he was a Skooma runner, but he was also a loving brother who wanted to take his little sister away from the chaos. He was a caring nephew who bought fresh mutton every Sundas to cook with his aunt and uncle. He taught me more than just unsavory skills used by thieves and bandits. This world wronged him and he still tried to find the good in it.

I couldn't stand to stay in that city any longer after what I found. I knew the guards were in on it, I couldn't go to anyone about what I saw. The thought of telling his family made me physically ill. By this time, I had a little money saved, some I earned, some from J'rasha. I knew I could make it last long enough to get far away. At night, I went to the stables and stole a horse. I road it northward with no destination and no real idea of how to ride a horse. It was very uncomfortable.

I made the mistake of stopping in Bravil to let the horse rest and buy supplies. I stayed at the Inn for the evening and left in the early morning to continue my journey but the guards most have been tipped off by someone at the stable looking for a stolen horse. I was caught on the Red Ring Road just a little South West of the Imperial City and sent to prison."

"The imperial prison?"

Nim nodded. For a brief moment, her mind flashed through the events of her arrest. The long, uncomfortable ride to the city in wrought irons, the strip search and subsequent beating by the jailor, the unpleasant dunmer in the cell across from her and his disgusting comments. The Emperor's blue eyes and soft smile, the blood spilling from his mouth, the amulet of kings stashed in the floorboards of Methredhels shack…. She blinked the thoughts away.

"How long was your sentence? It's a 500 gold fine for horse theft, I think. And you were still allowed into the Arcane University with a prison record?"

"I only served a night. Nobody actually documented my sentencing."

Fathis turned his head to the side and furrowed his brows. "That doesn't sound right."

"I escaped. There was a secret passage in my cell that led through an ayleid ruin and out through the sewers."

Fathis gasped quietly. He took a long look at the small woman in front of him shivering beneath the furs and struggled to imagine her being arrested by a guard and thrown into a dark cell. He paused and then tried to imagine her selling skooma out of a dingy shack in Leyawiin surrounded by thieves, addicts, and a strapping young Khajiit. Everything she had mentioned was so incredibly unbelievable that Fathis was overcome with the feeling that this was all some sick joke. He burst into shrill laughter.

Nim raised a brow, a crooked smile manifesting on her face as she waited, perplexed, for him to regain his breath.

"The Gods certainly are smiling on you, friend," he finally said, downing the rest of his wine and pouring another glass. "I guess you really are as lucky as you say you are."

"There's not much else to it. Once I was out, I spent some time trying to make enough money to buy the supplies I needed to support myself. I had to get creative at times, but it was nothing I wasn't used to. I decided I wanted to make something of myself rather than accept a life of poverty and criminal activity. I travelled to Chorrol in hopes of joining the Mages guild, but Teekeeus turned me away. I was young, sickly, and gaunt, I understand his refusal. The same thing happened at Bruma, and then Cheydinhal. During this time, I rekindled my faith in the Divines. Even though I was turned away from the guild, the chapels kept their doors open to me. The priests and priestesses were very understanding of my predicaments and let me sleep in the pews. Even after all I had done in my youth, the Nine accepted my penance and allowed me freedom again. I thank them daily for the strength they've granted me."

"And Mephala too, right," the dunmer snickered.

Nim narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to protest but stopped and shook her head. She shrugged her shoulders. "Eventually I ended up in Bravil. I stayed in the chapel with Marz working on my restoration. There I met Kud-Ei and became an associate. And now I am here. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you. You're a sneaky little minx, and I don't doubt that you've spared some details. But I believe you."

Nim sighed in relief. She shut her eyes and rested her head against the chair. She was sick of hearing her own voice and welcomed the brief silence as the rain poured. Finally, she heard boots against the stone tile and opened her eyes to see Fathis stretching his arms high above his head.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to know about this Necromancer business then?"

Nim nodded. "That's assuming you know _anything_ about them."

"Ha-ha," he said dryly. "I may not be up to date with the occurrences in Cyrodiil, but there is a long, dark history stretching across Morrowind. During my time with the Telvanni, I saw many unspeakable things. Many wizards are expert necromancers, having centuries to practice on their slaves and servants. " Fathis walked across the room to one of the cabinets against the wall and bent down to pull out the bottom drawer. Nim watched curiously as he rifled through the drawer, pulling out books, scrolls, and soul gems. She held her breath as he returned to standing position. Though his back was to her, she could tell that he was flipping through the pages of a book. "Here it is."

Fathis returned with a thick leather bound tome and placed it on the table between the chairs. "I don't know if it will be of much use to you. It documents the creation of black soul gems, the gems powerful enough to trap the souls of humanoid beings."

Nim picked it up and wiped the dust from the spine. _Necromancer's Moon_ , it read. She opened the book and leafed through the pages, finding detailed illustrations of soul gems, ritualistic runes, and the raised dead. _The God of Worms watches over our Order, and will deliver us from these troubled times on the Day of Reckoning._ Nim felt goosebumps travel up her arms.

"Thank you, Fathis. I'm sure this will be useful to my research, but…" she took a shallow breath, wondering how to frame her question. "Why do you have this exactly?"

Fathis looked uncomfortable standing in front of her. He looked pained, even slightly ashamed.

"Listen, Nimileth. I never practiced. Not all necromancy is evil in nature, but it is not for the faint of heart. It has been used to find cures for diseases, to understand anatomy and the mechanics of the body. Some only use it as a method for divination, to communicate with loved ones and familiars from the past. You believe me, right? I am opposed to all practices that treat living beings as chattel."

"Of course. If you remove yourself from moral obligation, it is just another form of knowledge. But a knowledge that relies on the death of another."

"I come from a line of Telvanni Wizards that existed for many centuries without any semblance of a moral code that Cyrodillians are used to. I never sought out mastery of this form of knowledge, but I was constantly exposed to it. I tried to understand why we did it. I tried to learn how it could be done, but it disgusted me. These subjects were taught as established convention, and the people I was acquainted with didn't understand my revulsion for these practices as much as I didn't understand how they could be so customary."

Nim nodded her head. "It would be foolish to spend so many years with the Telvanni and not learning anything from them. I understand."

Fathis' eyes widened as he recognized the words from earlier in their conversation. "Thank you," he said with a small smile. "I hope you understand the need for discretion."

"The feeling is mutual. I'd rather not return to the University with a warrant out for my arrest."

Nim returned the smile and stood to her feet with the fur blanket still draped around her. She gave Fathis a soft pat on the shoulder and shuffled past him to the archway of the room to gauge how strongly the rain was falling. The sky was dark now, obscured by heavy clouds that hid the light of the moons. A crack of thunder broke the gentle drone of splashing rain. She still had one more important task before she left. "Damn, it's already well into the evening and the storm's only getting worse."

"I suppose you would like to be heading back now," he sighed. It wasn't often that he had guests these days. Even boring guests. It had been even longer since he met someone quite as curious as the small bosmer enveloped by the bear pelt.

"Well not before I finish this wine," Nim replied. She scurried back to the table and poured out the remaining contents of the bottle between the two goblets. She handed one to Fathis and brought the other to meet it with a soft _clink_.

"You could stay a bit longer. I have plenty more to drink," he smiled as he watched Nim cock her head inquisitively.

"Tempting."

"And I promise I won't bring up your hedonistic days as a follower of Mephala."

Nim chuckled and sipped her wine. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it back to the guild hall if I drink anymore," she said, shaking her head.

Fathis took a deep breath. He too was very much inebriated. "But would that be such a bad thing?"

"You're a dirty old s'wit, Fathis Aren," Nim gasped playfully. "Was that your ploy all along?"

"Honest?" he paused and scratched the side of his head. "No, but it should have been."

"Tsk tsk," she tutted, casting a long glance up and down his body. He was a handsome dunmer, she gave him that. More importantly he was an incredibly intelligent scholar and his wealth of resources, both monetary and academic, made him all the more appealing to her. And she would be lying to herself if she denied the chemistry between them. "You look like just the kind of man who would break my heart."

"I think it's quite the opposite, Nimileth. I also think I am quite drunk. Forgive me," he finished his wine and removed the bear pelt from the young woman. "Come I will lead you back through the castle."

"Fathis," she began quietly. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"It is to my knowledge that you have acquired a unique Ayleid artifact, an arrow to be more precise."

Fathis' eyes grew narrow at the mention of the arrow.

"And how would you know about that?" he asked, but to be honest nothing she could have said would surprise him by now.

"How does any collector find out about what they want?"

"You ask around," they said in unison, though Fathis meant it more mockingly than in earnest. Typical of Nim to skim on details.

"Umbacano told me it would be anonymous," he frowned. "What a dirty n'wah."

Nim rolled her eyes and patted the dunmer's arm. "Fathis, don't look so sullen. I'm not surprised he'd be willing to sell it."

"Why's that?" He asked as he began moving across the room reorganizing the items he had pulled out of the drawers. Nim decided to help tidy up too and gathered the wine bottles and cups at the wash basin behind his alchemy desk.

"There are distinct breeds of collectors. There's people like my date, Milvan, who pay top gold for pretty trinkets to keep in their trophy cases. People like Umbacano, extremely knowledgeable, eccentric, a bit erm- obsessed with his possessions. And then there are people like us."

Fathis was eyeing Nim curiously as he placed a stack of books back into a cabinet drawer. "And how do you define 'people like us?'"

"People that keep taxidermied two-eyed mountain trolls as the centerpiece of their study," she said, pointing at the abomination that sat on his desk. "So basically," she began as she used a mixture of frost and flame to rinse the goblets. "I'd like you to part with the arrow."

"Hah!" the dunmer snorted. He found the request absurd, just like everything else she had done today. Absurd and also incredibly amusing. He decided to play along, just for kicks. After all, it wasn't often that an 'up-and-coming' ayleid researched visited, as she had said earlier. "You have some nerve coming in here and making such demands."

"Free lessons, free wine, a dip into your past, and an ayleid relic. I'd say that's a pretty good day for me."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Fathis move across the room and kneel beside a chest. He waved his hand over it, unlocking it with a quiet mutter of a spell. He then approached her and when she turned to face him, he held a small black arrow-head in his hand.

"You're an odd one, Nimileth. A little sleazy and very beguiling," he extended his hand, motioning for her to take it. "But you're alright. I respect it."

Nim felt a flood of relief wash over her as she took hold of the arrow head. She stood on her toes and threw her arms over the dunmer's shoulders, embracing him in a tight hug. "You're alright too for a dirty, old telvanni wizard."

Fathis returned the embrace and held her wobbly frame still with a hand on either shoulder. "Well let's go before you swindle me out of all my possessions then," he said with a grin. He picked up the copy of _Necromancers Moon_ and offered her his arm.

Nim accepted it and followed beside Fathis as he led her down the staircase. Sure, the evening could have gone more smoothly, but she felt content with the manner in which the events transpired. Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking. She was determined that Fathis would be the first and the last person she would disclose her past too. Despite his early judgment, she felt grateful that he was willing to view the experiences holistically and fortunate that he had a sense of humor about it all.

She glanced up at him and giggled. In the morning, she would feel immense guilt for taking advantage of him. He was really far too kind to someone as crooked as her.

"So tell me, Nimileth," his voice broke her train of thought. "Why did you really come to visit me?"

"Honest?" she said, shaking the hand that clutched the relic. "I only came for this,"

Fathis roared and shook his head. The bosmer was a strange one, and though they had only met that afternoon, he felt as though he had known her for much longer. He watched as Nim's tiny frame slipped past as he held the door to the grotto open for her. She turned around, waiting for him with a wide smile as she maintained her balance by leaning against the wall. In her buoyant mirth, she resembled any other young mage, full of wonder and vitality with all of Nirn at her feet. Truthfully, her foresight and intelligence unsettled him as it suggested that the young woman had experienced things no one her age should have.

"Hey!" he heard her call out. Her voice echoed down the stone hallway. Fathis locked the door behind him and Nim rushed to his side and hooked her arm around his. As they travelled down the grotto Nim babbled on about the Orrery, insisting that Fathis simply must come up to visit it. He gladly agreed. Fathis was happy, perplexed, and stupidly drunk as he listened to her prattle on about the celestial orbits, but he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that, somehow, he had just been conned.


	11. Hastily Scrawled Notes

C **hapter 11: Rumors and Hastily Scrawled Notes**

Nim awoke in her bed at the King and Queen Tavern to a raspy hand shaking her into consciousness by the shoulders. Her eyes flew open to see the red-scaled face of an Argonian clad in leather peering down at her through the darkness.

"Stendarr's balls Amusei!" She cried, prying his hand off of her. "Not again. Stop breaking into my room in the middle of the night! Why can't you wait until morning like any sane person?"

"What do you mean?" the Argonian thief asked as though these witching-hour interruptions were a normal occurrence, like popping by to visit a friend for afternoon tea. "The Gray Fox says it's urgent."

"Of course it is," she groaned and hiked the blanket up over her collar bone to hide her underclothes. "How did you even know I would be here anyway? I'm usually at the University on Turdas nights."

"Asked around. The beggars are always watching you. They say you study here sometimes."

"Well, that's not unsettling at all," she mumbled, the irritation clear in her sleepy voice. It didn't surprise her in the least that the Gray Fox would want to keep tabs on his most-prized thief.

"He waits for you at Ganredhel's house."

Nim sat up and rubbed the sleep from eyes, holding her blanket above her chest. "Cheydinhal?" she asked. Amusei nodded. "Yeah okay, I'll uh… see to it then."

"Shadow hide you, old friend. Try not to dream of me when you go back to sleep," the argonian snickered and made his way to the door. Nim stuck her tongue out at him, but she doubted he could see her through the dark room. She threw her pillow in his direction, but Amusei was too quick and swiftly shut the door behind him as the pillow slammed against it with a dull _thud_.

Nim sighed and mourned her lost slumber as she stood to her feet and slipped a loose cotton blouse over her head. Though she was happy that Amusei had at last joined the guild and pleased to see him well-paid and safe, she thought the Argonian took his job a little too seriously. When she ran into him in the Skingrad dungeon last year, he was in a miserable state of mental and physical health in addition to being imprisoned, but now he was running errands for the Gray Fox himself. The other thieves congratulated him on the position. Nim bit her tongue and offered praise.

 _No use keeping the old coot waiting_ , she decided and packed her bag. Thankfully, she did not bring all of her textbooks with her this time, only the copy of _Necromancers Moon_ and a sheaf of notes that Bothiel had given to her after asking about a peculiar event called 'the shade of the revenant.' She headed for the Elven Gardens District that night as she simply wanted to get out of the University and away from the scrutinizing gaze of her peers. A ghastly rumor about her was spreading throughout the student body.

 _Nimileth and the Bravil Court Wizard, Fathis Aren, have you heard? They've been having an affair._

 _Who?_

 _Nimileth, the bosmer Conjurer._

 _Ah, you don't suppose that's how she rose in rank so swiftly. A court wizard must have some influence._

 _Who knows? I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Have you seen her mysticism? Her wards are quite atrocious..._

Apparently, someone down in Bravil had a very big mouth and the whisper of a late night in the Wizard's tower turned into a lovers tryst. But as Fathis had mentioned, rumors have a tendency to compound on their journey down to Bravil. She wouldn't be surprised if words got twisted on their way up to the Arcane University as well. Nim shuddered at the thought of being confronted by Bothiel after she caught wind of the rumor. The older Bosmer would without a doubt douse her with flurry of prying questions. Even worse was the thought of running into Raminus. He would be too polite to bring it up, of course, but she was sure he would find it unprofessional. She had told him she was visiting for lessons in conjuration not lessons in… other things. Would he be disappointed? Would he look at her differently? Would he even believe her if she denied it?

Nim pushed it from her mind and threw on her sack, focusing instead on what the Gray Fox could possibly need this time around. Her thoughts scattered at the squeaks of a few rats darting behind wooden crates and barrels as she made her way out of the tavern. Nim had delivered the arrow-head to him on Morndas, and he had the gall to be disappointed in her recovery of the artifact. He was quite upset that there wasn't a whole shaft attached to it, and he had been less than enthusiastic about her suggestion to use his own. She hoped he had time to cool down since then.

* * *

Boots. The guildmaster wanted boots. A dead thief's boots, no less. Nim kept her conversation short, answering with nods and grunts to keep herself from offending the Gray Fox. She spent the majority of their meeting on the floor wrestling with Ganredhel's two dogs to distract herself and remain calm. It might have been their most productive meeting yet.

She stayed the night at a Dark Elf inn in Cheydinhal. The memory of Falcar and Vidkun's lifeless, bloated body disturbed her too much to visit the local guild hall, but she did meet up with Deetsan for dinner. They spent a few hours chatting about how the local chapter was running under new leadership and Nim asked if the Argonian had ever heard Falcar mention 'the shade of the revenant.' Although Deetsan could offer no further clarification on the event, Nim was pleased to hear that everyone was much happier under Deetsan's management. For the remainder of the evening, she re-read through _Necromancer's Moon_ , preparing the questions she would ask Raminus when she returned to the University in the morning. Now that a few extra days had passed, she hoped the rumors had quelled.

Nim arrived just before noon to find the campus empty, as was typical for the weekends. It was quiet save for the rustle of fresh green leaves and flower buds in the beech trees. Nim sighed with relief.

"Bothiel!" she called out as she entered the Arch Mage's lobby. She gave a small wave to the Bosmer sitting on the bench with a book in hand. "Is Raminus around?"

Bothiel's eyes lit up as she saw her. She shut her book and ran to Nim, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. Her eyes were wide with excitement and her mouth split into a large toothy grin. Nim pulled away from her, a little startled by the older bosmer's fervor.

"Is it true?"

Nim looked around the room, growing very aware of the perked ears of the few fellow mages who were now chatting at a quieter volume than before.

"What do you mean?" Nim feigned ignorance.

"Ah you sly fox. Don't think you can pull one over my eyes. Come."

Bothiel led the smaller elf outside into the courtyard and sat her down on the stone wall. She waited until a group of older scholars walked past. Nim tried very hard not to meet their glaring eyes "Fathis Aren. Are the rumors true?"

Nim felt fire rise to her face. "By the Nine, Bothiel, I can't believe you even have to ask. Of course not! Does everyone here think so poorly of me?" Nim could tell by Bothiel's pursed lips that the mage was attempting to conceal a chuckle, which only enraged her further. "I feel like I've been nothing but professional since I arrived. How did this rumor even start?"

"Oh don't look so sullen," Bothiel rolled her eyes. "A young, beautiful, talented mage. A daringly handsome and powerful wizard. It's not that hard to believe. I'm sure many of the older mages here have had similar fantasies before."

"Ugh," Nim shook her head. "It wasn't like that. We just spent the evening chatting and enjoying each other's company."

Bothiel raised a brow and smirked.

"Not like that, I said!"

"Well, good for you. I'm sure he must get _so_ lonely in that castle," the bosmer teased.

Nim rolled her eyes and held in her protest, unwilling to provide Bothiel with more fodder to taunt her with. "Does um- does Raminus know?" She asked nervously. Her stomach knotted again at the thought.

"He's probably heard the rumor." Bothiel's reply was not what Nim wanted to hear, though she had already expected as much. She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, but don't look so flustered. It's just a rumor, dear. It will pass."

"Well, I care deeply about what he thinks of me," she admitted. "I know the other students are saying I slept my way through the ranks. I don't want him to think I'm throwing myself at any mage who will train me."

"Raminus would never think that about you. He knows your talent comes from an intrinsic desire to succeed through hard work. He admires you greatly, you know. Why else would he ask the Council to include you in the efforts to research the cult of necromancers?"

This was news to Nim. She had an underlying suspicion that Raminus was trying to keep her out of the investigation after what happened in Skingrad. "He did that?"

Bothiel nodded. "He said you were interested in joining their efforts and vouched for your skill and competence." Bothiel looked over Nim's shoulder and grinned. Nim cocked her head, puzzled by her friend's sudden mischievous expression.

"Ah, speak of the devil. Raminus!" Bothiel cried out and waved her arms at the Imperial mage who had just exited the lobby. "We were just talking about you."

A slight panic spread from her gut to the distal most tips of her limbs. She peered over her shoulder and locked eyes with the Master Wizard, prompting her turn swiftly away with a whip of her neck. Her mouth went dry.

"Afternoon," Raminus nodded toward Bothiel as he approached. "Nimileth, it's good to-"

"Raminus!" Nim cried and stood to her feet so fast she nearly lost her balance. She grabbed onto Raminus' shoulder to steady herself before blushing furiously. "You're, uh, just the man I was looking for."

"Oh?" the imperial responded. He noticed that Nim was avoiding eye contact with him and staring intensely at the wall behind him.

"Are you free now?" she asked softly. "I'd like to have a word."

Raminus gazed up at the clock tower. It was nearly 12:00 PM. He was supposed to meet Ontus Vanin and Irlav Jarol for lunch at the Tiber Septim Hotel in half an hour. The walk itself would take nearly twenty minutes. He looked down at Nim again, who offered a small smile.

"Of course I have time."

Bothiel yawned and stood to her feet. She made her way toward the lobby. "Be seeing you," she grinned playfully and disappeared behind the door.

Nim removed her hand from Raminus' shoulder and smoothed the robes she had bunched up as she tried to keep herself from falling. She felt Raminus tense beneath her palm.

"You have somewhere else to be, don't you?" She saw the way he checked the clock when she asked earlier.

"Well I-"

"Heading to the city?" she interrupted. "I'll walk with you."

Raminus gave a small nod. "If you would like."

"I would."

The pair made their way through the large wooden gate and across the City Isle bridge towards the Arboretum. Nim wondered what he was thinking about her. She wondered if he was thinking about her at all.

"I did a little digging over this past week. I believe I found something that may be useful to understanding the creation of black soul gems."

"Digging?" Raminus asked with a small frown. Where on Nirn could she have sought out such information? "You didn't put yourself in harm's way, did you?"

"No, I was quite safe," she assured him. "I was reading a book called _Necromancers Moon._ In it, I read something about the 'shade of the revenant.' It's some kind of celestial phenomenon." She glanced up at him as they walked attempting to gauge the imperial's reaction. If he was familiar with the revenant, he made no motion to say so. "Bothiel said that Falcar had asked her about it and left some notes behind. I think it's some sort of ritual to create soul gems capable of trapping the souls of man and mer. There's mention of an altar and… anchorites? I don't really know what that means."

Raminus felt his stomach lurch as Nim finished her sentence. From Deetsan's report, he knew that Falcar was not simply dabbling in the dark arts to sate a niggling curiosity. He was in possession of these black soul gems, and if Raminus' hunch was correct, he had probably created them himself. "So Falcar was interested in this revenant as well? That's strong evidence that this will lead to further insight into the Worm cult's practices. Did you read anything about the location where this event occurs?"

"Um, yes, a few actually. Fort Istirius, the Dark Fissure, Wendelbek-"

"The Dark Fissure?" he repeated. "I recognize that one. It's a cave in the mountains south of Cheydinhal. If there is indeed an altar there, I believe this cave is directly related to the contents of the book."

Nim nodded her head in agreement. "Then I'll go investigate it," she asserted. "When this shade occurs again, I'll be there."

Raminus stopped walking. A solemn expression overtook him. Nim turned to face him with a quizzical look. A knot tightened in his stomach as she smiled curiously at him. "Nim, I can't ask you do that. I appreciate your eagerness to help, but I've already placed you in too much danger. Anything you were to discover would be of no use if you were killed."

"How much worse can it be than what I've already seen?" Nim shrugged. Her tone was light, almost playful, and not at all distressed by the potential threat.

Raminus shook his head sternly. "I think we've only scratched the surface on how powerful these dark forces are."

"Well, somebody has to check it out. Why not me? The Council had no problem with it before and I've already faced a few necromancers after all."

The grooves of Raminus' forehead deepened at her insistence. It was true. Although many battlemages had fought necromancers in the past, Nim was one of few amongst their ranks who faced the cult that was currently threatening the Mages Guild. And the Council certainly had no qualms about the imminent danger such a task possessed.

Raminus sighed and leaned his head back. He stared off into the bright blue sky for several breaths as he reflected on her proposal. He knew the Council would willingly send her out in a heartbeat, and of course, it would be Raminus' duty to give the order.

But that's not what he wanted. He wanted her safe. He wanted her to spend her time at the University taking classes and practicing new spells with the other first-years. He wanted to see her tinkering away in the Orrery with Bothiel and chatting with Irlav about their latest excavations. Maybe he shouldn't have convinced her to stay in the City for another term. Maybe he should have let her move away to Anvil when he had the chance.

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle squeeze on his arm. "Don't look at me like that. You're going to give yourself wrinkles."

Raminus stifled a small chuckle and cleared his throat.

"Then come with me if you're so worried," Nim suggested. She peered up at him with a smile, her voice soft and spirited. "If it's as bad as you think it is, you'll be there to help me. If not, then I'll be able to show you that I can take care of myself."

His grimace softened as he stared into her eager green eyes. It had been a long time since he left the university on an assignment. His duties were mostly relegated to advising students and assigning tasks for other mages, never any real excitement or peril. When was the last time he faced danger himself? But what would the rest of the Council say? Would they question his motives, his willingness to work alongside a younger mage? Raminus broke eye contact.

"I'll need to consult with the Council." Nim sighed and Raminus could tell by the flatness of the bosmer's expression that his answer displeased her. "I think it should be easy to convince them of the importance of mission such as this."

"If you don't tell me by the end of the weekend, I'm going by myself," she informed him dryly. He felt another squeeze on his arm before Nim let go. "You know where to find me."

And with that, she turned back toward the University, leaving Raminus to himself on the bridge. He swallowed deeply. The Council was in for an unconventional request.


	12. Beneath the Necromancers Moon and Stars

**Chapter 12: Beneath the Necromancers Moon and Stars**

Nim waited on the wall of the City Isle walkway outside of the University gate just as Raminus had instructed the day before. Having resigned herself to going her mission alone after their brief talk, she was quite surprised when the Master Wizard approached her Sundas evening and agreed to her suggestion to venture out to the Dark Fissure together. Nim wondered how his conversation with the Council went and whether the plan was met with any disapproval. From his hesitation earlier, she still wasn't entirely convinced Raminus really wanted to be a part of it either.

It was a warm, clear day for late Rain's Hand. Sitting beneath the afternoon sun, Nim felt a little overdressed in her cloak and thick clothing, but it was bound to be colder up in the Valus mountains. At least she hoped that was the case. She did not want to be sweaty around the Master Wizard if she could avoid it. Thinking carefully on the uphill climb they were bound to face, Nim removed her cloak and shoved it into her pack.

Finally, she heard the creak of the gate as it opened. Raminus stepped forward and greeted her with a small wave.

"You're wearing that?" Nim eyed the imperial mage curiously as he approached her in his fine blue mage's robes.

"I always wear this," Raminus replied, glancing down. He hadn't thought anything of it when he got dressed that morning, but looking over at Nim and her knitted brows, he felt a little more self-conscious in the moment. Nim was dressed in her typical fashion; hide leggings, leather boots, and a loose cotton shirt stained with the dyes of mashed flower petals and rust colored blotch what was likely blood. A bow was strapped to her pack and a small dagger was sheathed in a belt around her hips.

"Okay," she replied, clearly unconvinced. "As long as you can move deftly and avoid catching yourself on fire."

"They are enchanted for such scenarios."

"I hear you." Nim held up her hands, indicating that she would not protest any further. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she gazed up at the sun. "I'd say we have six full hours before nightfall. Shall we?"

Raminus nodded. "Lead on."

Raminus, expecting to be led through the City and onto the Red Ring road, took several steps down the bridge toward the Arboretum gate. He paused when he noticed the absence of footsteps trailing behind him and pivoted backwards to find no sign of the bosmer on the bridge. Peering over the stone railing, he was hardly surprised to find Nim scaling down the face of the cliff to the City Isle pathway below the bridge.

"What are you doing up there?" Nim called out to him as she gazed upward. "Come on."

Before he had a chance to form a reply, Raminus felt his legs carry him over the railing and onto the soft ground below. Walking as gingerly as he could, he descended the steep hillside regretting his choice of footwear as he slid along the loose soil. Nim watched his heavy-footed descent from below with increasing concern. For such an intelligent man, one would think he'd know to wear shoes with better traction. It had been some time since he last left the University on a mission, that much was all too apparent.

When at last Raminus had reached her, Nim chose not to comment on what she had just witnessed and continued along the trail until they reached the eastern shore of the Isle. Nim kept her eyes on the land on the opposite side of Lake Rumare as they walked along the water's edge, scanning for the narrowest stretch to make their crossing. She had made this trek on the way to Vahtacen and remembered hopping across the rocks of a shallow channel to reach the Red Ring road, but the heavy rains of the last few weeks likely flooded over that path. A cloudy memory of a rowboat tethered to a pier at the entrance of the Imperial prison sewers threatened to make a resurfacing. Nim pushed away any recollection of that night.

A group of mudcrabs scurried away as the pair approached the shoreline of a narrow channel. Raminus paused and watched as Nim took off her pack.

"Are we crossing here?" he asked gazing across the lake. The water lapped gently against the sand in front of him. She nodded and lifted her pack above her head as she took a step into the water. Though it was a shallow stretch, it was easily waist deep for the small elf. Raminus raised a brow. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to float my pack across and then wade through to the other side," she replied as though it were already abundantly obvious.

Raminus shook his head and walked toward her. He stepped up onto the surface of the water and extended his hand to Nim, who briefly widened her eyes at the sight of the imperial treading across the lake.

"Ah, I don't know that spell."

"I can see that," he replied and once again motioned for the bosmer to take his hand. "It's not that difficult. Let me show you."

"Umm, Raminus, I'm really no good with alteration," she replied staring into his palm.

"Nim, I'm not going to let you wade across the lake and soak yourself."

The bosmer launched her pack across the water with a telekinesis spell. It landed on the opposite bank with a graceless thud. She hesitantly accepted his hand and pursed her lips, waiting for the Master Wizard's next move.

"Now, I want you to focus on the interface between the soles of your feet and the water. Alteration is different than illusion in that it still abides by the rules of nature. Instead of reshaping reality in the mind of the caster and the target as you do with illusion magic, you must manipulate the properties of the physical world to do as you command. With a water walking spell, you will alter your buoyancy. This does not necessarily mean that you must make yourself lighter than the water, but rather less dense. Think of how a ship-"

"Mhm."

Raminus paused. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course. I am focusing."

He watched as the water rippled around Nim's feet. The elf stood with her eyes closed as she squeezed Raminus's hand. Slowly, she floated up onto the surface of the lake and exhaled deeply.

"How did you do that?" He hadn't even finished explaining the spell to her. Aside from the look of intense concentration on her face, he hadn't seen her make any movements or mutter any incantation to reveal she was attempting to cast a new spell.

"Hmm?" Nim opened her eyes to find a very confused Raminus staring back at her with knitted brows. "I was just listening to what you were saying. Make myself less dense, like an ice cube."

Raminus stared pensively at the Bosmer as she took a cautious step forward. She took one more and when she was still standing firmly against the lake's surface, she peered over at the imperial beaming with satisfaction.

"I thought you said you were no good with alteration," he said skeptically. She seemed able to pick up on the new concept just fine.

"I am not," she insisted. "So please don't let go of my hand otherwise I might fall back into the water."

They crossed the lake slowly. Raminus did not let go.

* * *

The trek into the mountains south of Cheydinhal took over an hour longer than Nim had estimated due to her decision to remain on the paved roads for the sake of Raminus' shoes and sure-footing. The shaded overgrowth of oaks was a welcome relief from the direct light rays at first, but as the sun began its descent the forest swiftly grew dark and carried a soft chill through its trees. Eventually they reached the last stretch of the Blue Road before needing to cut off into the wilderness of the Nibenay Basin. Nim navigated them through the dense hardwood forest guided by a crumpled and weathered map onto which her fellow mage had marked the Dark Fissure cave.

She kept a slow pace along the incline, hesitant to put too much physical strain on the older imperial when the unknown still lied ahead. To his credit, Raminus did the best to keep up as they maneuvered over fallen logs and through the heavy brush, but it was clear that his many sedentary years at the University had caught up to him despite his long morning walks through the city. Nim didn't mind the leisurely pace in the slightest. Few places comforted her as much as vastness of the wild, and the verdant green of the Nibenay made her heart swell.

As they proceeded further up the mountain, the vegetation grew sparser and sparser, giving way to fields of short grass and dispersed pines that could tolerate the rocky, nutrient-poor soil. The first signs that they were approaching a necromancer's lair took the form of a rotten, mutilated body strewn across the edge of a cliff. It appeared to be nailed into the side of the mountain by long metal stakes.

"Oh that's horrible," Raminus held the sleeve of his robe over his nose as they approached the cavern entrance. A decaying corpse hung from a metal hook nailed into the overlying stone on the left side of the door. A wooden spike lined from top to bottom with human skulls stood proudly to the right of it, and another body rested against the flat rocks behind the bones. None of them looked particularly fresh.

"Yeah," Nim said with an affirming nod. "You best get used to it. It's practically a decorative staple of the necromancer hideout."

Her nonchalance worried him, but he supposed that desensitization was natural and necessary after all she had already encountered.

"The altar's here, alright," Raminus approached cautiously. It looked like an ornate marble coffin. He slid the edge off one corner and wafted the air for signs of decay. He nervously peered in and was relieved to find it free of any bodies and pushed the lid a little further. It was completely empty inside. He turned to Nim. "Nothing."

"I suppose we wait now. The sun is setting but we still have decent time before nightfall. What about we setup over there." Nim pointed toward a tall rock a few meters down the slope of the hill.

"They could easily spot us if they approached from the trail."

"Not in the darkness. And it would be even harder with an invisibility shroud."

"Well, suppose they are coming from inside the cave. We would still be in their line of sight."

"Hmm, what about up there?" She pointed toward the hanging corpse and the large rocky outcrop situated behind it.

Nim clambered over the rocks in search of a good spot to sit in hiding. She beckoned to Raminus with a wave of her hand, and he pulled himself up to where she squatted. "It's going to be a tight squeeze," she said peering down at the crevice. She looked up at Raminus and his furrowed brow. He seemed to be concentrating deeply, perhaps performing a mental jigsaw puzzle on how the two of them would fit within the small space. "Unless you'd rather we split up. I can find another spot to hide in."

"Umm… I'll go in first. Let's see how it will work." Raminus situated himself as comfortably as he could within the narrow crack. At least they were sitting on flat surface. From their vantage point, they could see down upon the corner of the altar through the legs of the hanging corpse. He did his best to pretend it wasn't there. Though the spot was well hidden from anyone looking from the ground up, their view of the ritual sight was largely obscured by rocks.

"Make sure you're comfortable," Nim called out. "Who knows how long this may take."

She kept watch around them as Raminus shimmied himself into place. Once settled, he cleared his throat, drawing Nim's attention and indicating that he was in position. He gave her a nod and she lowered herself down, preparing to slide feet first into the nook.

"Would you like some assistance," he called up to her. His arms spasmed upwards, unsure of whether or not to reach for her and help lower her down.

"No, I'm quite alright." She was dangling a leg down and staring intently into the crevice below as though if she concentrated hard enough, she could extend her small limb down to the bottom without needing to leap.

But Raminus was already moving towards her with raised arms, attempting to guide her down. She slid right through his grasps until his hands were wedged firmly into the pits of her arms and he was holding her an inch above the rocky ground.

"Cozy," She said quietly as the imperial lowered her. He pulled his hands away as soon as her feet hit the hard surface.

"That's not quite how I'd describe it."

"The view isn't great but we can see the altar. Or a part of it at least." She turned around briefly to peer through the crack in the rock before reporting back. "With a decent detect life we can see how many necromancers are present before we decide to move. Being down in a crevice does put us in a compromising position however."

 _A compromising position_ , Raminus repeated in his head. The space between them was so small that he could feel Nim's chest expand against his own with every breath. He couldn't think of a more accurate description.

"Nim, I don't…" he began, flinching at every movement her body made against him as she tried to find a position that increased her field of view. "This spot is not-"

"You're right," the Bosmer interrupted shaking her head. "This will never work. I have a better Idea."

Without a blink, Nim had climbed out of the crevice and was scaling the rock wall up to the top of the cave's mouth. Raminus followed after her, quite less elegantly. When he reached the top, he found Nim lowered onto her belly as she gazed to the altar below. A sheer mountain face stood proudly behind them, offering protection from anyone approaching from the rear. From their position on top of the cave, no one could sneak up on them from either side without being spotted first.

"Better?" she asked with a small smile. He nodded and sat down beside her, taking the quiet moment to stretch his legs out in front of him.

Raminus watched in surprise as Nim removed her pack and began stringing her bow at once.

"You're going to kill a necromancer with a bow?" His voice relayed bewilderment.

"Do you disapprove? We're all flesh and blood. It's how I took down most of them to be honest."

"No, I wasn't criticizing. I simply thought you would have favored destruction."

Nim laughed softly to herself and shook her head. "A fireball is hardly inconspicuous. Also it's tricky with mages. You can never be certain of what charms they've cast upon themselves that might cause your own spell to backfire, you know?"

"Hmm, I agree it is harder to deflect a well-placed arrowed than a – hang on. Did you say 'it's tricky with mages?' Are you saying you're frequently in conflict with other people, with non-mages?"

"Well, I wouldn't say frequently," Nim replied without taking her eyes off the bow in her hands.

Looking the elf up and down again, Raminus couldn't imagine her in battle with anything other than wild game. Even though he knew she had taken down several necromancers, he had a hard time believing she could clash steel with a bandit or rogue mercenary. Who else could she be fighting out there? As far as Raminus knew she was not a member of the Fighter's Guild nor a combatant in the arena. Additionally, he was under the impression that the Bosmer was an alchemist by trade. Raminus couldn't think of any ingredient so precious that it's collection would put her face to face with highwaymen on a regular basis. Not even the rare ones.

* * *

Night fell upon the waiting pair in a deep indigo shroud. The sky was as clear as it had been during the day, leaving the blanket of darkness above them littered by thousands of shimmering stars and illuminated bt the bright belly of Masser and Secunda. Raminus laid on his back watching the heavens glitter above. He refreshed his detect life spell and listened calmly to the hoot of a distant owl. No motion from below alerted them to the presence of any waking necromancers.

Nim sat up briefly to crack her back. She muttered a few words under her breath and for a moment, her eyes glowed a vibrant purple as she cast Night-Eye. Raminus turned to face her, catching the fading glow of her eyes as the spell took hold.

"Ah, I haven't used that one in years," he whispered, recognizing the illusion-based charm.

"No?" Nim replied in wonder. "But then how do you get around at night?"

"I don't know, an oil lamp, a candle. I don't like the blue vision very much. For a Khajiit it's natural, but it just makes everything harder to see clearly for me. I haven't many places to be once the sun sets anyway."

"But that's so many extra steps. What about starlight?"

Raminus shrugged. "An oil lamp is equally effective and doesn't bear the greenish tint. To be honest, I never much cared for illusion magic. I've forgotten most of the advanced spells I was required to learn for classes right after I learned them. They just don't get much use in my line of work."

Nim recoiled and furrowed her brows at the imperial mage, though she doubted he could see her expression of disdain clearly in the dark. Sure, it was natural to gravitate towards certain schools of magic but how could he not see the value in a skill as practical as illusion!

"That pains me greatly. I'll pretend you didn't say it," she responded and focused her attention on the blue landscape surrounding them. She heard Raminus shift around on the rock beside her and tried to force herself to keep from jumping down his throat about the subject. Though she was sure the Imperial didn't mean anything by it, she couldn't help but take personal offence at his words. She fancied herself an illusionist after all.

After a brief pause of silence, Nim could not sit still. If not illusion than what else did Raminus value? "So what've you got against illusion then?" she asked.

Ramnius rolled his neck to face her direction. The black mass of her shrouded form appeared to be staring back eagerly at him, waiting. With his detect life spell active, he watched as her aura pulsated against the night.

"Well I can cast paralyze, silence, charm just fine. I know the basics very well and even some of the less favorable spells. I've just always found the school very… deceptive. Altering the reality of your mind is one thing. Altering the mind of other's is cruel. I've seen the way it can be used to exploit and influence the will of men, and it has never settled well with me. I have no use for it in my life."

Nim groaned and rolled her eyes. She heard this argument plenty of times from other mages who favored schools that Nim considered just as equally unsavory. She certainly wasn't expecting to hear it from a Master Wizard. Of course, there was ample opportunity to misuse a frenzy or a charm spell just like there was plenty of ways one could abuse an open or a telekinesis spell. If one only focused on the potential harm an evil spell-caster might cause, why not consider the conflict that can be avoided, the conflict that could be resolved by a responsible user? Nim certainly didn't consider herself a saint, but she'd never done anything unspeakable with her magic. Not to date at least.

"Any school of magic can be corrupted. It's all about the intent of the caster," she replied matter-of-factly. "Say I wanted to break into your room and steal all of your silver. I could levitate myself up to your window, unlock it, and float all your cutlery out into my sack without needing to touch anything myself." She illustrated the hypothetical situation with dramatic movements of her arms and ample hand waving.

"And if I really wanted to go at it, I could cast burden on you to render you immobile while I pile all of your possessions onto my person with the aid of a feather spell, then leave without a trace. All of that with just Alteration and a dash of Mysticism. And let's not even begin with the topic of trapping souls. That's the entire reason why we're here."

Raminus wondered whether or not to worry about the specificity of the account she just gave. "None of the spells you mentioned are inherently malicious. I agree with you – intent of the magic user is key and of course, we trust that mages within out guilds use all their spells ethically and responsible. But let's take a look at some of the spells within the school of Illusion. Command humanoid, demoralize, frenzy? None of those are used during benign interaction."

"And when am I going to use a damage health or drain fatigue spell in benign interaction?" she hmphed. Her frustration grew with a slow uptick.

"Destruction is inherently a weapon. You wouldn't call a sword nefarious for being used to slay an opponent."

"The same could be said for illusion. It's equivalent to any shielding ward or defensive magic. Is it so bad to charm, demoralize, or calm an opponent if it avoids direct conflict?"

Raminus found her increasingly agitated tone very endearing. She made a decent argument for her case and was obviously passionate about her studies. He certainly was not trying to dissuade her from practicing, and hoped she knew as much. He knew he wouldn't convince her of his belief, nor was that his intention. He simply had several decades of experience to see the kind of trouble a rogue with a few good charms could cause and wanted to make sure she was aware of the reason he favored other school.

"You needn't agree with me, Nimileth. I know you favor illusion, and I certainly trust you to be practicing with the utmost virtue and honor. I'm sure there are schools that you are not so fond of too."

"Not out of any sense of moral obligation." Her voice was bitter as she spoke. After dwelling on it for an extra second she cleared her throat. "I mean except necromancy." She sighed. "I suppose there is still quite a bit of magic that I don't understand."

"Maybe in 10 years or so you will change your mind about what you value. Maybe you won't. Neither is necessarily right and neither is wrong. As a fellow practitioner, I encourage you to form your own philosophy. Mine just happens to include a reluctance to incorporate illusion into my studies because I find it borders to close to manipulative tactics than my liking."

"Uh, _manipulative,_ " she groaned. "You sound just like Fathis."

Nim watched the corner of his mouth twitch at the mention of the Dunmer's name and cursed herself silently. Throughout their debate, she had all but forgotten about the rumored affair. Though she didn't need further confirmation to know Raminus was aware of the gossip, she was certain of the fact now. Nim sucked in a deep breath before continuing.

"Raminus,"she whispered to him and crawled toward him on her belly. She noted that his attention was now directed away from her and back to the stars. Despite the two of them being the only people around for miles, she had no desire to say what she was going to say any louder than necessary. She was thankful that the darkness concealed her shamed expression.

"Yes, Nim?" Though he was still staring up at the sky above, he could see the glow of her aura and the dark silouhette of her figure inching closer to him in his periphery.

"Did you hear the rumor?"

"What rumor?" he asked, a flutter rising in his belly. He hoped his inquisitive tone hid the true extent of his understanding, as he knew exactly the rumor she referred to. He heard of it a few days ago at dinner. A couple of Apprentices muttered it between themselves at the far end of his table. His ears perked at her name, and they spoke loudly enough for him to piece the stray words together.

 _Fathis Aren. Nimileth. Night. Together._

It hit him like a blizzard wind. He thought back to the night he found the letter addressed to her and wished he'd ripped it up right there. The visceral reaction made no sense to him. She was free to make whatever decision she wanted in her private life, and after a few seconds to mull over it, he felt incredibly guilty for such irrational thoughts. Suddenly losing his appetite, Raminus dismissed himself and retired to his bedroom to stare at the walls.

"It's not true." Her voice pierced the memory. "I don't want you thinking less of me. I don't want you thinking of me like that."

"Why would I think less of you?" he shook his head, disregarding the notion as nonsensical. Though a part of him wondered… how did Nim want him to think of her? Feeling the familiar ball of guilt rise in his stomach, he shook the thought away.

"I heard the students talking. They were… making claims about my advancements and rank. I just-" she paused. "wanted you to know it didn't happen."

"You don't need to worry. Even if-" he began and trailed off, unsure of how to form the thought in his head into words. He started over "You're a talented mage. People will try to take that away from you. You shouldn't let them."

The sincerity in his voice reassured her. She could have left it at that and returned to the silence of before, but something within compelled her to keep talking. Perhaps it was knowing that the cloak of night fall that kept her blushed cheeks hidden from his gaze. She sat on her knees and tucked the loose strands of her ponytail behind her ears. "I really care about how you perceive me."

Raminus looked over at the shadowy figure, staring into what he thought was her face. He could hardly make out her features against the night. "You shouldn't," he chuckled. "I'm just an old mage with conservative beliefs."

"No," she replied, a gravity resonating in her voice he wasn't expecting. He felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder and tensed momentarily beneath its grip. "You're much more than that to me. When I arrived at the University, I wasn't expecting such kindness. I was certain I was going to be just a nameless face amongst the ranks, and I didn't think anyone would ever hold as much confidence in me as you have. I know that you want to keep me safe and though I resist it sometimes, I-," Nim's mouth had suddenly grown incredibly dry as she tried to finish the sentence. Her voice quivered in the back of her throat. "I really appreciate it."

Raminus sat up slowly and drew a leg up to his chest. He wished he had cast that stupid Night-Eye spell earlier. Even if blue and hazy, he wanted to see what her face looked like as she spoke. Was she smiling, was she nervous? Was it all a figment of his imagination running wild, painting a tone he wanted to hear against the backdrop of eerie whistling across the mountain cliffs?

"Well it's just part of my duties as a member of the Council." The words left his mouth slowly.

Nim wanted to slap herself in the face. What on Nirn was she doing sitting here in the dark speaking to a Master Wizard in such flowery melodrama? They were on a mission to scout for necromancer activity. In fact, they should have been on the lookout that very moment, yet here she was babbling away. Through her spell, she could see Raminus looked startled, a little panicked even. Was she making him uncomfortable? Undoubtedly so. And to think she had made such a stink to Bothiel about being so professional in the presence of her superiors!

The thought made Nim's stomach lurch, but for whatever reason she couldn't contain herself. Dibella compelled her to vomit out more saccharine words. Why introduce the sentimentality now, especially after all he had said to insult illusion magic?

"No," she said softly with a small shake of her head. "No one has ever done that for me. I've never really felt…safe before." Nim moved her hand down to meet his, laying it against the back of his palm. She hoped it wasn't as sweaty and clammy as her other hand felt. "You make me feel safe."

Raminus shifted forward slightly. His heart raced in his throat as he watched her glowing figure slide closer to him across the rock. He forced himself to scan the landscape surrounding them and look away from her. Alone in the mountains on a mission from the Council- If another mage saw him and Nimileth in this position he would surely be reprimanded. He outranked her. They were on official guild business. He was twice her age. There were a million reasons why they should not be so close to one another, why he should not be feeling any amount of her skin. But he felt frozen in place, unwilling to pull his hand away. He hooked his thumb around hers. Its tip was rough, calloused by years of blistering from flame and marksmanship alike.

"Raminus I-" she began with a stutter. "I- um. Sometimes I feel like we-"

The loud creak of a wooden door from below silenced her immediately. Without a second to even blink, Nim had rolled away from the imperial and back toward her bow and quiver. A shroud of invisibility hid her from view as she pulled herself up to the edge of the overhang. Raminus fell forward onto his belly as well and let an invisibility spell fall over him. He saw Nim's pink aura peer back at him, likely scowling at the hypocrisy of his transparent visage. But he hadn't said anything untruthful. In his day to day life at the university, he never had a use for Illusion. What he was experiencing now was not daily routine.

A beam of red tinted light shone down from the sky above, illuminating the altar as a cloaked figure approached from the cavern. They watched with held breath as the necromancer slipped two large soul gems into the altar and muttered an incantation under his breath.

"The order of the Black Worm will feast on you soul," the man spoke in a gravelly voice. Nim froze wondering if the necromancer had detected their presence already. The man didn't turn around and instead worked on weaving a spell to cast upon the altar as the light bore down on him. Nim decided to take no chance in waiting. She crouched onto her knee and raised her bow, directing it at the necromancer's skull.

At the last minute, the man bent down to slide open the altar's cover. The arrow flew right over his head, missing it's target with a loud _thunk_ against the rock before him. With their cover now blown, Nim notched another arrow and let it fly into the man's neck as she leapt off the edge of the rock. A startled Raminus followed swiftly, the adrenaline readily flowing and his heart beating only slightly faster than it had been minutes prior.

The necromancer raised his arm, raising a worm thrall from the rotted body that had laid strewn across the rock of the cavern. It's body stood to its feet faster than one would have expected for a necrofied corpse. It lurched forward with a pained groan. Raminus fired a burst of flame into its torso as it hobbled toward him. Nim drew her dagger and ran behind it. She reached around its neck and sliced the rotted head clean off with a whip of her blade. The lingering flame took care of the rest. At once, she and Raminus lobbed fireballs into the Necromancer's chest before he could raise another thrall.

Raminus watched in a brief moment of morbid fascination as the necromancer's aura faded away to nothingness. His trance was broken as the scent of burning flesh flooded his nostrils and he rapidly grew queasy and weak. The sound of sizzling skin and bubbling innards brought a stream of bile into his mouth. He moved toward the cavern wall, balancing himself against it as he regained control of his breath and spit out a mouthful of acidic saliva. Nim walked toward the charred necromancer, kicking it's side and stepping on its chest to ensure he was indeed dead. She reached down with her dagger and began cutting through his neck in long sawing motions. She grunted as she did so. This task was much tougher than slicing through the rotted flesh of the zombie.

Raminus watched her in revulsed shock as she moved on to the man's leg. He opened his mouth to protest or at least ask a question but only the sound of dry heaving and gagging escaped.

"What?" Nim asked, tucking away her loose bangs. "His friends are going to come back for him. He won't be of much use as a thrall without these."

Steadying himself against the jutting rocks, Raminus decided to remove himself from the scene. Unwilling to watch her dismember the burnt body, he left to retrieve Nim's pack from their hiding place. They needed to leave as soon as possible, and there was not a chance in all of Nirn that he would risk spending the night out here in the wilderness beside her. Not after what he felt earlier and certainly not after what he felt rising in his stomach now. A man can only handle so much emotion at once. Raminus didn't care if they travelled through pitch blackness with the aid of that bloody Night-Eye, all he wanted to do was sleep in the privacy of his newly built private quarters and forget about what he had just witnessed until he had the strength to relay their findings to the Council. First he would bathe. A nice hour long soak until his whole epidermis was pruned like a raisin.

He gazed down at Nim and shuddered. She had completed her previous task, leaving a pile of body parts unceremoniously stacked beside the collection of corpses they had seen upon arrival. She set it ablaze with a stream of fire and dusted off her hands. He knew she was competent at fighting necromancers. He didn't know she was this competent. Nim was already pushing the lid off the altar. She reached in, unphased by the goo on her boots and arms that once formed the flesh of a human being.

"Huh," she mused as she held up two soul gems, black as void. "I guess that solves that."

Raminus watched as she wiped the bottom of her boots off on nearby rock, leaving it streaked with dark brown blood and gristle. She looked over at him with a satisfied grin and shrugged. He offered a meek, faltering smile and did his best to keep himself from retching again.


	13. House Hunter - Cyrodiil

**Chapter 13: House Hunters - Cyrodiil**

Nimileth left the Earl of Imbel's house through the cracked window of the first floor, pocketing a new pair of enchanted shoes and a pouch full of Vampire dust. This was a rare find indeed. She longed to test out it's unique properties, but The Main Ingredient in the Market District rarely stocked the ashen remains of the undead.

She dreaded the journey back to Ganredhel's house, finding solace only in the fact that Daisy and Luna's slobbery faces would greet her at the door. The Gray Fox's requests were becoming more and more absurd, and she was absolutely not looking forward to hearing his skooma-pot plan this time around. You'd think he was after the Amulet of Kings itself by the lunacy in his eyes!

But before she journeyed up to Cheydinhal, Nim first needed to attend to a very important matter of personal business. It was now the second week into Second Seed, and the Bosmer's 18th birthday had passed with a whirlwind of emotions, cheap wine, and a chocolate cake rich enough to purchase your entire family. Though her birthdate was marked on her official documentation at the University, only her friends at the Waterfront knew what this date meant to her and the kind of celebration it called for. To Methredhel, Carwen, and Adanrel their light-hearted and staggeringly drunk rage through-out the Waterfront and Temple District was also a goodbye. It was nothing permanent, of course. Nim preferred to call it "a promotion."

Now 18, she was a legal adult in the eyes of the Cyordiilic law, meaning she could purchase property in her own name. She had been waiting to make this very trek down to Anvil for little over a year after finally having saved enough gold to secure her bid on a manor in the quaint sea town along the Gold Coast. She was surprised to find that few other people had made competing bids but was pleased none-the-less to discover that hers had been accepted. Methredhel offered to help her move down but that Bosmer more than anyone knew how little Nim truly possessed. To celebrate the special occasion, she decided to hire a carriage to carry her and her one meager trunk of belongings across the country in style.

To pass the time along the journey she unpacked and repacked her possessions, double checking that all was there. Her alchemical tools and weapons took up the most room, books occupied the next largest amount of space, and the little clothing that remained after she disposed of her stained and ripped cotton shirts took up the last fraction. Now that she was a certified home-owner and ranking member of the Mage's Guild, she decided to revamp her fashion sense to something a little less… tattered. Not that there was anything wrong with the way she dressed of course, but it wouldn't hurt to wear the few outfits of silk brocade fabric that she had lifted from a house in the Temple district more often. She doubted anyone would be able to recognize them as their own outside of the Imperial City.

Rummaging through and folding up her mage's robes, she spied a robe of black cloth that she had stolen from a Khajiit's house in Bruma nearly a year prior. It was suspiciously enchanted with a number of useful fortifying effects; Illusion, Marksmen, Sneak, Speechcraft, Blade. It was practically _calling out_ to her to be stolen. She remembered those early days of sneaking, the wonder and joy that filled her after a successful heist. This was a particularly valued treasure that she refused to part with despite Ongar's lofty price. She ran her hand over the robe as she unfolded it. Its rich, smooth fabric was black as the midnight void. A _thud_ against the carriage floor drew her attention to a book, covered in a black hood, that had tumbled out from inside the robe. She picked it up.

 _The Five Tenets_ it read. At the time that she stole the set of robes and the book, it's name and contents meant nothing to her.

 _Tenet 1: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis._

She assumed it was the ravings of a mad man high on moon sugar. Fast forward a year later and the title sent a chill up her spine. She had read in _The Black Horse Courier_ that a man had been arrested for performing a sacrament to summon the Dark Brotherhood. They were rumored to carry out murders in exchange for gold. Nim gulped and quickly wrapped the book in the robe again. She shoved it into the bottom of her trunk. Surely she hadn't robbed the house of an assassin?

While sifting and refolding, a few more skeletons made a reappearance. An oversized cotton shirt that once belonged to J'rasha. It still smelled of him when she closed her eyes. The wrought irons that had bruised her wrists purple and blue the night she was brought into the Imperial Prison. The glistening necklace of the Amulet Kings. She caught her disgusted expression in the reflection of the ruby centerpiece and tucked it away into the bottom of the trunk with the Dark Brotherhood paraphernalia and slammed the lid closed, latching the two padlocks for good measure.

Choosing not to dwell on the fortunate mistakes of her youth, Nim turned to look out the window as the carriage bumped and thumped its way across the cobblestone. Few reminders of the winter cold remained as she gazed upon the thriving West Weald. The basswoods and black cherries were in fool bloom with racemes of white blossoms flittering through the air along the Gold road. The flax flowers swayed with the mild breeze atop the rolling hills of green fescue. All around her, Spring flourished in full force.

* * *

It was late evening by the time she arrived. With her belongings safely stored at the Mages Guild for now, Nim sat in the Count's Arms, a quiet establishment save for the occasional lute player or harpist that played for tips on weekend evenings when the Inn was at its busiest. She clutched a wrinkled parchment in her hands and read through the neatly inked lines for the 37th time. She had gone through the deed four times a week in the past month alone to make sure this Velwyn Benirus wasn't trying to swindle her.

The whole situation had seemed far too perfect to be true; once on a trip to visit Carahil at the Mage's guild, she had been approached by a young imperial man, Velwyn Benirus. He appeared to be in his early twenties, probably only five years or so older than Nim. The manor had been left to him after the passing of a relative, but Velwyn had expressed that despite the inheritance, he was not close to this part of his family. Being the only living member close enough to Anvil, he was to handle the sale of the estate as he had no desire to claim the house himself and remain in Anvil given that most of his family resided in the Imperial City.

He was looking to sell a beautiful manor for the price of a waterfront shack. Well sure, it was in a bit of disrepair with a crumbling fence and overgrown vines, but it didn't take a master thief to recognize that such a price was a complete steal. Anyone who thought otherwise was foolish or too lazy to pull a few weeds.

The brunette Imperial sitting in front of her cleared his throat and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, eager to proceed with their business. Nim looked up from the deed to squint her eyes at him and toss back another mouthful of wine. They had been sitting in the Count's arms for nearly half an hour without saying a word as the little bosmer re-read the terms of the deal.

"You're absolutely certain about this? No take-backs? You're not going to kick me out of my own home two weeks from now when you've spent the money."

"The deed is signed. The house belongs to you," Velwyn replied with a small nod. Nim felt like he was trying too hard to force a smile. Though he gave her a toothy his eyes fell flat and shifted often as though looking for something moving in the corner of his vision.

"And should I need to contact you some weeks from now, how can I reach you?"

"Why would you need to contact me," he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Nim shrugged. "Say the house is haunted and I need to know more about its history to lift the curse."

Velwyn bolted up from his seat. The screech of the wooden chair legs scraped painfully against the tile. "Who told you that?" the man shouted loudly over the lute player and his drummer. The whole of the tavern turned to face their table.

Nim recoiled back against her chair preparing to defend herself. "No one! It was a joke. I just want to make sure I'm not getting scammed."

Velwyn swallowed a dry mouthful as he met the eyes of the other tavern-dwellers. Slowly, he sat back down but not before retrieving a set of keys from his pocket.

"Nimileth, I think I have been very fair and patient with you. As soon as we close on this deal together, we can both begin our new lives. In your hands is the deed of ownership." He slid the keys across the table and motioned for her to take them. "Here are the keys to the front door and the one that open all other rooms within the house including the balcony and basement."

Nimileth took the keys into her hands and began rolling up the deed, glaring at Velwyn all the while. His cheap smile had returned and if it failed to convince her of its sincerity before, it reeked of artifice now. He was acting suspicious indeed, maybe even more so than when he gave her his overly-enthusiastic pitch when they had just met.

"Velwyn," she said standing up from the table and extending her hand. "It's been a pleasure. Good luck wherever you go."

"The same to you," He replied with a gentle shake.

Nim tried to remain level-headed as she left the inn and entered the mild spring night. She had just engaged in a legal though highly dubious exchange of currency for a slice of property. Nothing about that was particularly problematic, but Nim was still unconvinced that there hadn't been some grisly murder in the house that was driving its value down. Despite her hesitations, her heart swelled heavily against her chest with each new step. She was no longer a street-urchin surfing between other homes and abandoned buildings to put a roof over her head. She owned a house with a master bedroom, a balcony, even a study.

What would it look like in a few months when she had time to complete all her renovations? Every morning she'd wake with the sun shining through her face, press her feet down on cold tile, and walk down the winding stone staircase to her very own kitchen stocked with anything her heart desired. She could even throw a house-warming party if she really wanted though truthfully, she couldn't imagine all of her acquaintances getting together beneath one roof without suspicious greetings and glares between mages and thieves. She imagined Fathis would find it riveting,

Though she planned to begin moving in come morning, Nim couldn't help herself. She _needed_ to see the inside of her home with her own eyes. She walked briskly down the road until she reached the foot of the manor. Gazing up at it, she was never happier to feel so small. She scurried up the steps and unlocked the copper door. The inside left her breathless… and in the worst way possible.

As soon as she stepped into the dark foyer, a chill ran from the tips of her fingers up to nape of her neck putting the fine hairs that grew there on edge. The frigid air within the house was unnatural even for poor insulation and stone architecture. Nim cast starlight, illuminating the room around her.

The wooden furniture appeared in good condition save a healthy coating of dust. The walls and tiles were clean and free of cracks. Nothing jumped out at her as cause of alarm, but the niggling voice at the back of her mind that had warned her about Velwyn's fake cheer was also whispering not to explore any further. Something was _wrong_ and Nim didn't dare walk further in until she could pin the sinking feeling in her belly to a cause _._ She knew better than to ignore a gut hunch and reluctantly took a step backwards and locked the front door to her new home. It would still be there in the morning.

* * *

Nim awoke in a room at the Anvil Mages Guild, confused and bothered by the lingering unease that crept over her as she spied the house deed on her nightstand. It left her body stiff and rigid as she got dressed and splashed her face. Last night hadn't gone as she expected, and despite the excitement she had felt in the weeks prior, she dreaded returning to the manor down the road. Perhaps she was coming down with a flu, she told herself, and wandered down to the kitchen where she could brew a pot of tea to make her feel more like herself.

"Nim! Oh, thank Magnus I've run into you." Nim turned her head from the stove to find a worried Carahil approaching her. "Listen, Thaurron was just telling me you're planning to purchase Benirus Manor. I'm not too late, am I?"

 _Too late?_ Nim felt her heart sink into her belly.

"Yes, I actually signed the deed last night." Nim watched as Carahil's expression contracted from worried to pained. The altmer mage closed her eyes and sighed.

"I hadn't even realized it was for sale again. You haven't been inside yet have you?"

Nim nodded.

"And?" Carahil paused, waiting for the Bosmer's reply. By now Nim was piecing everything together. Whatever she had felt last night was no fluke. She was right to question the low prices, Velwyn's strange demeanor, the chilling presence she felt in the foyer.

"I guess it all makes sense now," came her defeated response.

"What do you mean?"

Nim removed the kettle from the heat as it began to whistle. She steeped a pouch of fresh mint leaves as she explained to Carahil the events of the night before.

"I was hoping I was coming down with some fever, but no. I can't put words to it, but I was there last night, and it felt all sorts of wrong. Does that make sense?" Carahil nodded empathetically. "There's something sinister in that house. A malevolent presence. I just- I could feel it."

"Oh Nimileth, I would have told you had I known."

"Told me what?"

Carahil wrung her hands and motioned to a nearby bench where the two of them could sit. Nim followed with her tea.

"Lorgren Benirus, the original owner of the house, was a member of the guild many years ago," the Altmer began. "As he got older, he grew obsessed with finding a way to prevent his aging. He turned to necromancy, using dark, evil methods to prolong his life and was caught desecrating the tombs and crypts beneath the Chapel of Dibella. He was digging up the bodies of the dead and we members of the Mages Guild knew what he was planning to do with his magic. After deliberation among ourselves, I lead the mages to his manor to confront him. He attacked us and we had no choice but to kill him. Amid the chaos of the confrontation and the fighting, his body vanished."

"Vanished? Where could it have gone?"

Carahil shook her head. "I wish I had the answer. No one has set a foot in that house for years. Not even Velwyn, his grandson. I think Lorgren placed a curse on the manor before we confronted him. He is preparing to turn himself into a Lich. Somehow, his body must be preserved within the house, perhaps in a secret passage within its walls."

If Nim wasn't sick before, she was certainly beginning to feel ill now. Just her luck. Not only was her home owned by a necromancer, but his mummified body was likely still in its very walls. There was just no break from this necromancy business, not even within her personal life.

"I suppose I will need to check for it then. I've slept in some miserable conditions in my life, but I am not about to sleep in a house where there is a dead body laying about." Nim was finally setting standards for herself. There was no way she was going to move backwards now.

"I could send word to Traven. Lorgren was a powerful mage. I have no idea how serious this curse could be and what kind of danger you could be in by investigating it. Hannibal is familiar with Lorgren's transgressions. I am sure he would be willing to help."

Nim's eyes flew wide open. Traven? Carahil didn't really expect the Archmage to come down for the soul purpose of cleansing Nim's house. Then again, Carahil and Hannibal Traven were very good friends and if anyone could sway the old Breton to do anything, Nim would put her money on Carahil. Never-the-less, Nim had yet to meet the Archmage herself and certainly didn't want this to be his first impression of her in person.

"No, no, no. There is no need to get the Archmage involved," she insisted fiercely shaking her head . I've fought my fair share of necromancers. What's another notch on the belt?"

Carahil, a bit disturbed by that final statement, raised a brow. "Well, you won't protest my coming with you at least. I need to see this through to the end."

"I am ready when you are," Nim replied and took a sip of her tea, burning her upper lip in the process.

* * *

 _Velwyn Benirus, that worm!_

Nimileth clutched the scrap or Lorgren's diary tightly in her hand all the way back to the Imperial City. It was abundantly clear that Velwyn had known the manor was haunted when he sold it to her. A simple warning would have been greatly appreciated and she probably would have bought the damn thing anyway. If she didn't need a true-blooded descendent to open Lorgren's portal, Nim would march right into the King and Queen Tavern and roast that spineless imperial on a spit.

"Velwyn Benirus, you son-of-a-bitch," Nim stormed into the tavern, slamming the wooden door so hard against the brick wall she heard its hinges rattle. She marched straight toward Velwyn who had just tripped over his chair and was standing in the center of the room attempting to lock eyes with any of the other patrons. None of them came to his aid.

"I-I'm surprised to see you all the way out here in the Imperial City," he stuttered. He wasn't even attempting to feign a smile now.

"Did your mother lobotomize you as a child, or are you really stupid enough to think I wouldn't find out you sold me a cursed house? You're lucky I'm not dead, you bastard, otherwise I would be haunting you for the remainder of your miserable little life," Nim jammed her finger into his sternum, causing him to flinch backward.

Ley Marillin, the tavern proprietor was attempting to call Nim over and calm her down. Chancellor Ocato could have been calling her name in that moment and she wouldn't have heard.

"Say something, damn it!" She shouted and shoved her palms against the imperial's chest. He stumbled backward, catching himself on the edge of a dining table.

"I-um. I suppose you think I am responsible for the curse?"

"Think very carefully about your next words, Velwyn."

Velwyn paused and took a seat. He hung his heads in his hands as he spoke.

"I suppose you're right. I knew there was a curse on the manor, which is why I sold it for so cheap. I should have warned you. I suppose I assumed you would lift the curse and be done with it, being a mage and all. I hope you weren't hurt badly in that horrible place."

He looked up at Nim, his face drooping and eyes full of remorse. Nim returned a fiery glare. Whether he apologized for it now meant goose-egg to her. He knew it was haunted all along! Velwyn nervously drummed his fingers against the table.

"I fear greed has gotten in the way of my better judgement. My family told me that I could move here to the Imperial City once I tied off all loose ends in Anvil. The manor- that was the last loose end."

"Bitch, I am your loose end now," Nim unsheathed her elven dagger and plunged it into the wooden table between the imperial's fingers. "You can bet your ass I am certainly not tied off."

The color drained from Velwyn's face as he stared at the blade between his middle and ring finger. The scene drew a loud gasp and then a long silence from the tavern-goers. Ley Marillin hopped over the bar counter to confront Nim.

"Now Nimileth, I don't know what this young man did to hurt you, but if you're planning to cut him up, you best do it outside and not get any blood on my floor."

Velwyn's pale face froze as he heard the proprietor's words. Nim watched his panicked eyes shoot towards the door and to the window to their right as he planned an escape. Nim pulled her dagger out of the table and took a seat beside him. She placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed.

"Velwyn, I will not kill you, but the only thing preventing me from doing so is that I won't be able to lift the curse without you. You're a young man with a long life ahead of you. We can sit here and have a nice chat over some beer or you can try to run away and we'll have a much shorter chat as I cart your paralyzed body from here to anvil in a trunk. What say you?"

"The former please," Velwyn replied, his voice much smaller than it had been previously. "How- um. How much do you know about Lorgren?"

"A fair bit." Nim patted his thigh with a smile and turned to Wilbur, raising two fingers into the air. "What do you know?"


	14. Where Spirits Have Eviction Notices

**Chapter 14: Where Spirits Have Eviction Notices**

Velwyn and Nim sat in the Counts Arms once more, quietly sipping their respective drinks and listening to the soft melody of the lute player as they waited for the rest of their company to show. Although Nim trusted that both she and Carahil could handle whatever lay ahead of them, she wanted absolutely zero doubt to remain that her home had been cleansed of its haunting if she were to ever feel comfortable living there. Thus, she sought out another mage to join them as they lifted the curse. Afterall, Carahil had mentioned that it took a team of mages to slay Lorgren and he still managed to survive to this day in some non-corporeal existence.

Nim's first thoughts jumped to Raminus. Surely, he'd want to help her if he knew she was in danger. And it's not like this task was strictly personal. Lorgren and his death was associated with the Anvil chapter and Carahil would be there to prevent them from saying anything they wouldn't want overheard by another guild member.

But over the past week, Raminus had been acting strangely towards her, shifting away whenever she approached, freezing in her presence, and every time she left the room, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Nim couldn't for the life of her pin it down to why. So many things could have tickled him the wrong way that night of their mission at the Dark Fissure. Was it her oversharing? The handholding? The dismemberment?

Deciding not to introduce anymore discomfort into Raminus' life, Nim had written to Fathis regarding the haunting at Benirus Manor. During their conversation, the Dunmer made it very clear that although he was painfully unaware of the rise of necromancy within Cyrodiil, he was well versed in the subject as a whole due to his many years as a Telvanni wizard. Perhaps a first-hand observation might set him right and remind him of the lurking dangers the Mages Guild faced. Fathis was all too eager to join her cause, replying swiftly by mail with only a few sentences.

 _Of course. I knew you missed me._

It wasn't untrue.

Everyone had decided on a 6:00 PM meeting time. Fathis arrived only a few minutes after Carahil. The dunmer Court Wizard greeted Nim with a tight embrace as though it had been years rather than weeks since their first and last meeting. He was dressed in dwarven armor minus gauntlets and helm and carried a staff strapped to his back. Nim hoped the heavy armor was overkill rather than necessity given her state of underdress. She shrugged the worry aside, remembering his penchant for dramatic flair.

"Fathis Aren, it's been a while," Carahil greeted him with a firm handshake. "The last time I saw you must have been… Vivec City four decades ago? You were still with the Telvanni then weren't you? Planning out the construction of your own Tel, if I remember correctly."

"Yes," he replied with a nod and welcoming smile that did not acknowledge the hint of judgement in Carahil's voice. "Though much has changed in the interim, I assure you. You, however, haven't aged a day."

"How I've heard."

Nim noted Carahil's cool demeanor and wary expression. If they were acquaintances all those years ago when Fathis was still in Morrowind, she didn't get the impression they were very close.

"And how do you and Nim know each other?" Carahil asked. Her tone was inquisitive. Her eyes, locked onto Fathis, were scrutinizing.

Fathis and Nim gave different answers at the same time.

"Conjuration lessons," said Nim.

"Ayleid research," said Fathis.

"Curious," Carahil replied staring unblinkingly at the dunmer.

"Well," Nim began, hoping to draw attention away from their staring contest. "This is Velwyn Benirus, grandson of Lorgren Benirus. He is the one who sold me the manor, and he will be helping us lift its curse." Velwyn gave a weak wave to the surrounding mages. The imperial rocked forward on his chair looking ready to vomit at any minute.

"We're all introduced. Let us waste no more time," Carahil motioned toward the door. "Nim, lead the way."

The four of them walked briskly and silently down the road and into Benirus Manor. None of the diffuse light from the twilight sky outside entered the windows, leaving the inside of the home shrouded in an unnatural gray. A broken cupboard lay across the floor of the foyer following a brief fight with ghosts that materialized when Carahil and Nim went investigating the first time. Nim stopped in front of a shattered urn to show Velwyn and Fathis the skeletal hand that she had found along with the page of Lorgren's diary. Upon picking up the bony limb, a crash sounded from upstairs.

Nim turned toward the entrance to the stairwell, watching as Fathis and a glowing orange fire atronach disappeared around the corner into the bedroom to investigate the source. Nim silently prayed that she would still have a standing house after tonight and not simply a pile of soot. Velwyn's cries drew her attention back toward the foyer, but before she had time to locate the cause of his shrieks, a frost spell struck her in the shoulder and sent her forcefully crashing into the cupboard behind her. Her skin burned from the blistering cold as she rose to her knees. The ghost that had attacked her was now moving closer with a low groan as it entered from the basement doorway. Nim let a reflect spell wash over her and sent a blast of flame into the specter. The magical fire engulfed its ethereal form and sent it screeching back into the afterlife.

With new-found adrenaline, Nim charged into the foyer to find two more ghosts cornering Carahil and Velwyn. With one hand, the altmer mage was shielding Velwyn with her ward as he cowered behind her. With her other hand, she sent streams of shock magic into the attacking specters.

Nim approached from the rear, lobbing fireballs into the ghosts without realizing she had begun to drain her magical reserves dry. When she failed to call upon more flame, she reached for her elven short-sword only to be struck by the realization that her steel blade was useless against the undead phantom.

Nim heard Carahil shouting to her above the sizzles and snaps of the shock spells, calling for the bosmer's aid. Nim spied a silver plate and assorted cutlery amidst the rubble of the collapsed cupboard beside her. Arming herself with a plate and fork, Nim approached the ghosts. She stabbed and slammed her silverware against them as forcefully as she could possibly attack something without a physical body. The coldness of their forms left her hands numb and blue, but the pained shrieks of the ghosts slowly faded as their life force fled them, leaving only a pile of ectoplasm where their apparitions once hovered.

"Sloppy work," Carahil shook her head at Nim once the threat was eliminated. The Altmer turned her attention to Velwyn who was still crouched down and shaking in the corner.

Fathis walked up to Nim and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Innovative," he said with a raised brow. "You're lucky Lorgren had fine taste and that wasn't pewter."

The party descended down into the basement without any interference from the manor's ghosts. Nim swore she could hear Velwyn's breathing from eight feet away. The heaviness and rapid pace of his breath only increased as the red runes of the portal became visible. Though Nim couldn't decipher her sigil's meaning, she felt It emanate pure malevolence. The wickedness of its magic pulsated against her skin as she approached it.

"Wh-what am I supposed to do?" Velwyn asked as they gathered around the wall.

"Maybe we need some of his blood," Nim suggested holding up her silver fork and readying herself to plunge. Carahil shook her head.

"Approach. Make contact. Try to visualize an open door. Lorgren left no incantation behind. Your presence should be enough. Go on, place your hands on the sigil."

Velwyn did as was told, tracing the lines and curves of the sigil with his hands. Slowly, the bricks of the wall began to quiver and fold backward. The wall collapsed in on itself to reveal a tomb hidden behind the basement wall. Velwyn, laying his eyes on the skeleton of his dead grandfather surrounded by more runes and scattered bones, wasted no time in escaping. He had opened the portal. His part of the deal was met.

The remaining elves entered the cold tomb. The same sigil that marked the portal entrance was engraved on the stone pillars surrounding them. The crypt was littered with disturbed coffins and dismantled skeletons from Lorgrens experiements. Nim's heart heaved for the poor souls who's slumber and peace had been stolen by the necromancer's self-serving plots. A dusty tome sat on the desk near the entrance of the crypt. Nim took a step toward and reached to place her hand on its spine, pausing only when she met Carahil's shocked expression.

"Do not trust anything you find here, Nimileth," the altmer warned as she eyed the skeleton resting on the altar in the center of the room. The remains of Lorgren Benirus were cloaked in a faded cloth covered in stitched patterns of arcane runes. Carahil's face twisted into a scowl upon stepping closer. She had entered the circle of a large symbol on the ground in front of the altar when a low, hushed voice broke the silence.

" _I desire the chance to atone for my sins._ " The spectral voice filled the empty space around them, sending vibrations from the ground up through their limbs. _"The things I've done to the people of Anvil, the horrible, unspeakable acts I've committed demand repentance_."

"Lorgren," Carahil hissed under her breath. Fathis' eyes scanned the room as he brought his staff into his palms.

 _"Carahil, you were justified in your actions. Slaying me was the only way to stop the madness. I have accepted that fate. Now, so I may make my final peace with the Nine, please rejoin my hand to my body. Only then, when I am complete, will this eternal nightmare end."_

Carahil pointed to the skeleton's left arm. It ended at a wrist. Nim set her pack down and retrieved the skeletal hand, which held together suspiciously well despite the absence of flesh and ligaments. Nim approached the altar and placed the bony hand beside the rest of its body. The voice of Lorgren returned with a throaty cackle.

 _"It never fails to amuse me how easy mortal man is to manipulate. You've assisted me in completing the very thing Carahil and her cabal sought to prevent all those years ago... my ascension to immortality."_

"And you're arrogance remains even in the after life!" Carahil shouted above the maniacal laughter.

Although she heard the voice continue his monologue, Nim focused her attention on the growing orb of orange light that arose from the ribcage of the skeleton on the altar. She drew her sword and swiped it across the face of the stone, scattering the bones across the floor for no other reason than being skeeved out by its glowing presence. A clear blue mist began to materialize just behind the altar in the shape of a man. Carahil raised her hands, readying her shock spells with both palms, and Fathis directed his staff at the floating apparition. Within seconds, withered gray skin formed across its spectral body and spread across the bone like a web, returning the spirit of Lorgren Benirus to flesh.

Nim leapt up onto the table and shot her fireball into the Lich, its dry flesh crackling at the heat. Both Fathis and Carahil's stream of shock magic followed moments later, filling the air with the buzz of electricity. The magical heat caused a cloud of steam to fill the air directly surrounding the lich as it cried out with an inhuman shriek. Nim raised her blade over her right shoulder, preparing to swing down upon Lorgren with a heavy below. She felt her blade connect with flesh and slice clean through the necrified tissue. As the steam cleared, Nim saw the lich, now fully dead at her feet. It's bodied was charred by the shock and flame. Fathis kicked its head over to Nim who recoiled as it hit the back of her boots.

"Well," she said with a shrug. "That was slightly anticlimactic. I thought he might be a bit more passionate after being dead for so long."

"This is not to be taken lightly, Nimileth," Carahil tutted as she crushed the a bone of Lorgen's scattered remains beneath her foot. The left-overs of his skeleton were aflame on the stone tile. "I suppose there's no way to know who these remains belong to now that they've been moved from their resting place."

"They won't ever be disturbed again," Nim promised. "I'll speak with Primate Dumania Jirich to ensure they receive a proper burial on the cathedral grounds." It was the least she could do for the poor souls. She wondered if any of their spirits had been forced to attack her minutes ago. Wherever they were, she hoped they found their way to Aetherius with no further interruption.

Carahil nodded in agreement and turned towards Fathis. The Dunmer was sifting through the pages of the _Tome of Unlife_ on Lorgren's desk squinting at the intricate symbols and daedric text.

"This could fetch you a fair price in the right markets," he stated matter-of-factly as he continued to leaf through the text.

"Don't you dare, Aren," Carahil growled and ripped the tome from his grasps. She tucked the book under her arm and scowled at the dunmer. "How did they even let you in to the guild, I wonder?"

"This," she said, tapping the spine of the book with her free hand. "is going straight to the University archives under lock and key. I won't have any more deaths and liches on my conscious, no thank you. Now let's leave this place. I sense that our work is done, but remaining here any longer is going to give me a headache."

* * *

Carahil took her leave of the other two elves once they reached the open air of Anvil, but not before taking Nim aside. Nim felt worry grow in her stomach, positive that she had just showed Carahil how incompetent of a mage she truly was and that the Altmer mage would not want anything more to do with her.

"Thank you for letting my join you in lifting this curse, Nimileth," Carahil whispered. Nim felt the tension leave her body in a long exhale. "I set out to destroy Lorgren long ago and failed to complete my task until tonight. His unholy craft will no longer threaten the citizens of Anvil. Well done."

She left for the mages guild, offering a small wave and approving nod to Fathis as she departed. Nim slumped against him, tired, hungry, and defeated. His clunky dwarven armor was not comfortable in the slightest against her cheek, but she couldn't bear to support her own weight in the moment.

"Thanks for coming," she mumbled. "Hope you got to stretch your legs a bit."

"I can't decide if you're one of the luckiest women alive or one of the unluckiest."

"I think they kind of… cancel each other out and at the end of the day I'm just neutral."

"A fair assessment. Come," he said, offering her his arm. "Let's go see if we can find this Velwyn fellow. I'm sure he's probably pissed himself in fear. The least we could do is offer him a drink."

"The least _we_ could do! This is entirely his fault!" Nim looked up in shock to find Fathis grinning smugly at her. "I think you should me buy me a drink for even implying such a thing."

And Fathis did. Several in fact. They met up with Velwyn at the Count's Arms and after plowing him with several beers, convinced him to join them as they took their party down to the docks where the miscreants and sailors spent their late evenings. Shaking loose the aura of vile curses and fear, the group made their way to the Flowing Bowl, where Nimileth and Fathis managed to start a bar-fight with the entire crew of _The Serpents Wake._ Who would even choose to start a fight with a man clad in dwemer armor? The very thought astounded Nim yet she threw punches with the lot of them.

As dawn broke, she found herself slumped against the shore listening to the call of the early seabirds with the taste of iron lingering on her lips. Velwyn and Fathis were snoozing in the sand beside her, painted all shades of bruise from the blue of Fathis' normal dunmeri complexion to the purple of the darkest star-free night. A blurred recollection of kissing Fathis sometime during the night flashed across her eyes. Or was it Velwyn? Or was it that Velwyn had kissed Fathis? Her head pulsated at the thought, hoping neither she nor her companions would remember come daylight.

Nim rolled over to watch the receding shore through her spinning vision and smiled. For a house-warming party, this wasn't half bad.


	15. Rewriting History

**Chapter 15: Rewriting History**

 _Blink. Don't laugh. Blink._

The Gray Fox droned on. Nim was staring through him. Past his exaggerated hand movements. Past the ghastly cowl that adorned his face. Past his empty promises of glory and legend immortalized.

 _Don't stand up and shut the door in his face. Blink._

They were sitting in the ground floor of a lavish Imperial City Townhouse. He was speaking about the Imperial Palace, something about the Old Way and the Glass of Time. Nim was counting the threads of yellow fabric in the tapestry directly behind his left shoulder and biting the tip of her tongue.

 _An Elder Scroll_. He wanted her to steal _an Elder Scroll._ She snapped back to him when he mentioned the Imperial Sewers. She _hated_ that place after having to crawl through it when she escaped the prison. Almost as much as she hated sitting in the Gray Fox's presence. He placed a key on the table. Apparently, he had picked it from the pocket of Ocato himself. Nim raised her brow, impressed. All he seemed to talk to her about was scrying and demanding respect. Until this moment, she hardly believed he was an active thief these days.

The Gray Fox laid a length of parchment on the table and continued on, listing the details of his plan as he pointed to the black ink where he wrote the instruction. For the first time in the entire history of their interactions, Nim was speechless, and not because she was trying to hold her tongue from insulting the cowled imperial. The value of the Boots of Springheel Jak and the Arrow of Extrication were soon made clear to her. He even arranged for her to take the place of Celia Camoran in the reading room of the Imperial Palace. Perhaps she had been wrong about the Guild-Master all this time. Few could draw up a plan as elaborate as this one. But even fewer could pull it off.

* * *

Nim tracked a long trail of mud, dust, and blood across the pristine floor of the Imperial reading room as she approached the ornate wooden chair situated before a stone brazier. Both her palms were sweating furiously and the flickering fire so close to her face did nothing to calm or cool her. She debated casting a calm spell, worried that the trained priests could pick up on the rapid beat of her heart as it threatened to leap out of her mouth in one long retch.

As she sat she did her best to funnel her energy toward listening for the sound of footsteps against the stone tile and fighting the impulse to stand and scan the bookshelves lining the walls of the room. It was a rare collection afterall. Who knew when or if she'd have the chance to browse them anytime soon.

The sewers had been full of rats and marauders that she had easily snuck past with the aid of an invisibility spell. That much she anticipated. The Old Way was a long stretch of Ayleid ruin running beneath the Palace District, much like the secret passage she had taken with the Emperor and his Blades. By now she suspected that a subterranean ruin ran throughout the entirety of the Imperial city and was inhabited by the restless spirits of the Ayleids and their slaves. And probably mudcrabs and goblins as well. She encountered her fair share of both as she traversed the narrow halls.

Nim spied a blur of white fabric in the upper corner of her periphery and glanced up to see a priest descend the staircase with a large scroll wrapped around a broad wooden handle. It was a literal scroll. She wasn't sure what she had expected. A stone tablet? A leather bound tome? Not an actual scroll.

"Celia Camoran, the scroll you requested," the priest said, placing it on the stone surface before her. Nim's chest felt so heavy with fear, she wasn't sure she could will herself to speak even if she tried.

Nim reached out and grasped the wooden handle, pulling the scroll closer to her. She ran her trembling hand across the yellowed parchment. She expected to sense a magical aura or an inexplicable power yet unnamed to her but instead, she felt only paper beneath her fingertips. The scrolls were said to be of unknown origin and their contents could tell of the future or allow the reader to see the past events as they transpired with one's own eyes. The Moth Priests were said to have the ability to read the scrolls after years of practice, but only with the cost of their ordinary eyesight.

Nim peeled the edge of the scroll away and rolled the handle to the left. If she read its contents, would she go blind too? The curiosity compelled her despite the fear. She opened the scroll to reveal row upon row of runes of unknown script. Or were they columns? They weren't daedric, that she much she knew. Radiating out from the center of the parchment were a series of concentric ellipses bisected by lines. Some of them formed what looked like constellations or triangles. Some connected circled runes to one another. To Nim, they looked like a celestial orbit, a map of the cosmos. None of it made sense. She felt relieved… and a little bit disappointed.

Slowly, she wrapped up the scroll and secured it with the thread fastner. She clutched it in her sweaty hands and as silently as she could, made her way toward the exit of the reading room. The entrance to the Old Way was now sealed, meaning she had to find another escape. The guards would be on to the ploy as soon as the Priests went to retrieve the missing scroll. The Gray Fox had mentioned that the enchanted boots were enchanted to protect her from long falls, but Nim was uncertain exactly how long a fall she would survive. Her best bet was to look for a window or balcony, even a chimney or garbage shoot would suffice.

Nim ascended the palace floors with her invisibility spell and ducked into the room behind the first open door she came across. Though lavishly decorated, It was mostly empty save a single desk and pair of chairs in the center of the room. Nim continued to move on behind another set of doors that led to a bedroom area. An empty fireplace was built into the far wall. Nim approached it and held her nose to the grate in the floor, smelling for any sign of fire. She could cast frost if necessary, but the scholar within her winced at the thought of carrying an Elder Scroll through open flame. Seeing as there were no alternatives leaping out at her, Nim removed the grate, tucked the elder scrolls under her shirt and leapt to whatever fate await below.

* * *

Nim stumbled into the Anvil running on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee. Carrying an Elder Scroll across the city was nerve-wracking enough, but somehow her trek halfway across the province after she dropped it off with the Gray Fox was one of the most exhausting experience she had ever endured. Not a quarter of an hour went by that she wasn't glancing over her shoulders to check for someone following. Every voice, every footstep, every shadow was a guard approaching with a warrant for her arrest. She was sure that no one had seen her during the heist, but something about being _wanted_ by the law stirred awake a child-hood terror from the recesses of her memory.

Once she reached the West Weald she thought to steal a horse to expedite her journey to Anvil, and the Gods knew how well that worked for her last time. She even contemplated purchasing her own mount just to avoid the fear of being stopped with a stolen steed while trying to get to Anvil faster. However, she was travelling light due to the nature of her mission was as penniless as the day she was born.

Nim rushed to her newly cleansed manor the minute she entered Anvil. She didn't know what the Gray Fox wanted from this ring-exchange in the middle of the County Hall, but her exhausted body couldn't handle the mental strain of thinking it over for herself. She laid on her bed for a brief moment, hoping to catch up on at least a few hours of deep slumber that she had missed running the Gray Fox's latest, and hopefully last, heist.

She laid on her bed and tried to calm her breathing as her eyes flickered closed, but the images guards breaking down her door and hoisting her away from her newly purchased property caused violent thrashes and restless lethargy as she stared at the ceiling above her. She would be getting no sleep until this mission was completed and her house was free of looted goods. Well, _mostly_ free of looted goods. There were still several trinkets she was unwilling to part with.

Nim left a bowl of frost to melt on her dresser as she opened her wardrobe to choose a suitable outfit for her excursion. She settled on a gown of green silk. If she was headed to the castle, she might as well blend in. After splashing herself with the frigid water and running a wash-cloth down her body, Nim braided her hair into a long ponytail and left for the eastern gate.

* * *

Milona sat silently on her throne in the County Hall. She had grown used to the spells of emptiness. Being a Countess was not dull business by any means, but just like any other occupation it had it's peaks and lulls. Most of the time, she didn't bother to get worked up when she heard the creak and heavy slam of the castle's front gates. There were many workers that kept the castle running and they had their own duties, visitors, and errands to attend to.

A small Bosmer appeared before her suddenly. She hadn't even seen her enter though the main archway. She walked up the foot of the steps of the throne's elevated platform and curtsied with a bow of her head. The woman was dressed in fine silks and carried herself as any other individual of noble blood might, with shoulders back and chin held high. Milona searched her memory, attempting to recall the bosmer's angular face. Was she a relative of Dairihill? Milona swore she recognized the woman.

"Good afternoon, Countess Umbranox."

"Good Citizen, what can I do for you?"

Unprompted, the bosmer ascended the steps and presented her palm to the Countess. On it lay a gold ring with Colovian engravings. Enchanted by an overwhelming sense of familiarity, Milona picked it up and held it before her eyes.

"I- I don't believe this," she murmured. "This ring belonged to my husband! He's been missing for over 10 years."

A flurry of emotions raced through her mind. She thought she had come to terms with Corvus' disappearance years ago. Being the standing ruler of the county, she had no choice but to reassemble the shattered pieces he had left her as. She heard the rumors. That he had been beheaded by bandits while travelling to the capital, enamored by a young courtesan that whisked him away, even that he had been spotted in Skyrim as the owner of a lumber mill with a pack of small children running at his feet. She didn't care into who's arms he fled to, only that he was still alive.

As the years progressed and the throne beside her remained empty, Milona had come to accept the worst. No matter where he was, he was not returning. The rumors never stopped, but as much as the words caused her heart to ache, Milona couldn't listen to any of them. She had a county to run.

But now she clutched his wedding band between her fingers. This was the first piece she had seen of him since he vanished that night so long ago. Following the swirls of gold metal with her eyes as she spun the ring around her finger, Milona couldn't hold back the rush of emotions.

"How did you get it?" She asked. "Do you know his whereabouts?" She scanned the bosmer's eyes for any clue, but the woman's stare was blank. She was young, not young enough to be Corvus' illegitimate child as rumor would have it. What about a lover? She was an elf and her true age might be decades older than what her physical appearance betrayed. What did she know? Is this what became of her husband?

Milona spoke just above a whisper, her eyes cast down to her lap. "Why are you showing it to me?" The pain etched itself plainly in the lines of her face.

"My name is Nimileth. I've been asked to give this to you," the bosmer replied.

"I never thought to see it again," Milona sighed and squeezed the ring tightly in her fist. "What I wouldn't give to see him once more."

The creak of wood drew both Milona and Nimileth's attention to an imperial man dressed in leather armor who approached the throne. Neither woman had even realized he was present.

The man was covered in a thin layer of grime and soot. His blue eyes sagged at the corners, giving the appearance of a droopy old dog. Nim felt her stomach flutter as he crouched before the Countess and cleared his throat. She scanned the room quickly, realizing that no guards were present in the throne room. Milona cast a confused glance at Nim and watched as a stroke of fear swept across the bosmer's eyes. Nim moved swiftly to place herself between the unknown man and the Countess as he began to speak. With one arm extended across the Countess's torso and the other hand gribbing the hilt of her dagger, Nimileth waited to hear the stranger's words and watched in anticipation as he slipped a gray hood over his head.

"By the power of the Elder Scrolls, I name Emer Dareloth as the true thief of Nocturnal's cowl!"

The body of the man before them was enveloped by a swirl of healing blue light. He stood to his feet and removed the cowl from his head. At once, his identity became clear. It was Corvus Umbranox! The Gray Fox himself!

Nim felt a squeeze on her bicep as Milona gripped her arm from behind. "I-I've been betrayed!" She cried out.

"I am the Gray Fox, Milona, but you have not been betrayed. I am also your missing husband, Corvus Umbranox."

"Corvus-" The fear in Milona's voice had melted away to a wounded ache. "Twelve years. Why were you hiding from me?" She was still gripping Nim's arm, and despite the fact that Nim was certain neither Corvus nor Milona were thinking much about her presence in the room, Nim didn't dare move.

"Twelve years ago, I inherited this cowl from the former guildmaster of the thieves guild, thus becoming the Gray Fox. I also received his curse. Whoever wears the cowl shall have his name stricken from history. Once I wore the cowl, no one in all of Tamriel could recognize me. Not even you, Milona."

"I don't understand. You were unable to return to me?" Nim could feel Milona trembling behind her as she spoke.

Corvus took a step forward and reached out to his wife. Nim felt Milona pull away and squeeze her arm tighter. Corbus recognized his wife's fear and looked away briefly in shame

"I stood right next to you and you didn't even know it. I cried out to you 'Here I am! It's me Corvus.' And you looked right through me."

Finally, Milona released Nim from her grip and stepped away from the elf. She straightened her posture and looked down upon Corvus with a small shake of her head. "You have broken my heart for a second time. I cannot let an infamous criminal, the Gray Fox, become the Count of Anvil. If you try to announce yourself as Corvus, I will deny you!" she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the imperial. "I will deny you before the emperor if I have to!"

"I guessed you would react so strongly to me, Milona. This is why I brought my friend along."

It was Nim's turn to feel the cold chill of shock flood her body. Her body went rigid as she stared, wide-eyed at the Gray Fox.

"From this moment forward, I renounce my life of crime forever. I am passing the Gray Cowl to the next guildmaster to lead the thieves guild onward."

Nim recoiled, taking a step behind Milona as she watched Corvus approach her. She kept her eyes locked upon the hideous cowl in his hands as she circled Milona, refusing to allow Corvus near her. Eventually he stopped chasing her, his face bent in confusion at Nim's sudden refusal to be near him. He stood in place beside Milona and reached out toward Nim dangling the cowl in the air.

"The Gray Cowl is now yours. I am passing it you as the new guildmaster of the Thieves Guild."

Nim responded with a firm shake of her head. Corvus furrowed his brows and chuckled.

"The curse no longer remains with the cowl. I have undone the detrimental effects." The confusion on Corvus' face grew as he realized this explanation did not stop Nim from steadily shaking her head. He cleared his throat and continued on. "If you go to the ruins of Dareloth in Imperial City and don the cowl, you will find that no one will have noticed the change in leadership. However, you can remove it and still be recognized as yourself. Your identity will not be struck from history as mine was."

Corvus raised the cowl once more, motioning for Nim to take it. Nim stared blankly at Corvus for several seconds before bursting into shrill laughter. Both he and Milona grew uncomfortable listening to her dry heave as she regained her breath.

"No, no, no" Nim chuckled, and shook her hands up in front of her. No matter how hard the Gray Fox shook his cowl at her, she was not going to accept the _gift_. "I'm just a petty thief. I don't want to be the guild master. I do not under any circumstances accept those terms." She smiled at the Gray Fox as though waiting for the punchline of a great joke.

Corvus stood with his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. "But-"

"You can't be serious," Nim laughed again. "You didn't think you could just wash your hands of the guild and push this responsibility on to me. I said I would help you, not that I would lead the guild." Nim paused, watching the surprise spread across the imperial's face. His droopy eyes were the largest she had ever seen them, wide with shock, bewildered. In that moment, Nim realized that he had never once thought of this possibility. She felt her stomach her burn. After all she had done for him, all she had risked, he never once thought about what she wanted. _Gods_ she had been a fool to think he ever would have done such a thing in the first place!

"Nimileth, I'm not sure you-"

"Who do you think you are barking orders and such- Emperor Uriel Septim?" Her tone had changed from slight to confusion to steadily growing rage. "This is daedric magic. A dark and terrible aura emanates from it. Can't you feel it? Your soul is cursed for wearing it and I will not bear that mark upon mine. What if this falls into the wrong hands? What if it is used for evil instead of petty theft? No, I don't want this power. I am not right for this position. You're certainly not a count anymore, and you hold no more sway over me."

"I-I admit I find myself shocked," Corvus exclaimed. Milona shifted in her stance and took a step away to increase the distance between them. "I don't think you understand the power I am granting you. I didn't mean to lord my position over you in anyway."

"So you didn't think to ask me?" Nim began to pace around the elevated platform waving her hands in the air as she spoke."Even bring it up as a potential 'maybe'? Something as simple as 'I'm thinking of giving up my position as the Gray Fox. Would you be interested?' Simple as that, and now you stand here a fool in front of your wife that you abandoned for the sake of Daedric power because you're too incompetent of a leader to even secure a replacement. Have you no loyalty to anything beyond yourself? You have used me for your personal gain for the last time. I refuse. Ask Armand, ask Skrivva, Methredhel, anybody else."

Nimileth's voice had steadily grown to a powerful timber. She was shouting loud enough for her words to echo off the castle's walls. Milona's eyes were bounced between the entryway of the throne room back to Nim, wondering if the commotion was going to call the attention of the guards anytime soon.

"I chose you because you are the most competent thief." Corvus spoke in a soft voice, hoping to calm the elf, to help her see reason. "Anybody in the guild would agree to that. We all trust you with the future of the guild, Nimileth. I thought you would be thrilled!"

"Being a great thief does not make you a great leader," she growled through gritted teeth. The nerve of the man! Had he even listening to guar dung that was leaving his lips? "Perhaps if you reflected on your past for a brief moment, you would understand that. I have responsibilities to myself and to others and accepting leadership of the guild would make this quite difficult for me. Maybe it's easy for you to run off and create a separate life to play guild master in, but not for me."

"How dare you suggest I didn't suffer for the sake of the guild!" The calm façade that Corvus had been trying to maintain was broken. "You could not even imagine the things I gave up to ensure the guild thrived under my leadership! I spent the past decade working to reverse this curse and return to my wife. Nothing will keep me from this. This is what matters most." Corvus reached out for Milona's hand which hung loosely by her side, but the woman pulled it to her chest with a gasp.

Milona shook her head softly. "I don't know what to say, Corvus. Where do I even begin? Twelve years it's been, and I've had not a single word from you."

"This is absolute rubbish," Nimileth cried, turning her attention to the Countess. She swept her arm across her chest and pointed at Corvus who puffed up his chest at the accusatory finger. "You needn't say anything to this man. He abandoned you. I live in this town, Countess Umbranox, and I'd rather see the ocean swallow it whole than see this man sitting beside you in the County hall."

"That's enough!" Corvus shouted, hoping his voice would overpower the rambling Bosmer. He watched as her eyes narrowed furiously and realized that this shouting had quite the opposite effect when Nim jabbed her finger into his chest.

"Enough?" she snarled."You encouraged me to murder a Court Wizard. You paid me to steal from blind Moth Priests. You had me steal an Elder Scroll from the Imperial Palace. Is there really such thing as enough for you?"

"Corvus!" Milona exclaimed with horror in her eyes. She shielded her face behind her hands and wept into her palms at the realization that the man standing before her was nothing like she had remembered.

"Milona, I did it for you! Only so I could return to you!" Corvus fell to his knees and clutched the hem of her skirt. Nim looked on in disgust.

"Is this the man you married, Countess? Is this the man you trust to stand beside you and lead Anvil? You don't know half the wicked crime he's responsible for."

Nim turned to Corvus, who looked ready to strangle the bosmer.

"You are nothing, less than worms, less than dirt. You hold no loyalty to the guild, no loyalty to Anvil, no loyalty to your own wife. What a pathetic little man you are. In your selfishness, you have stolen the past twelve years of marriage from the countess and in bestowing the cowl to me, you have stolen my freedom.

But know this, every item you have asked me to steal, every breath you have taken to get back here, to put me where you want has a price. And you have not paid. Think well on what you have done, Corvus Umbranox. You have wronged me unforgivably."

Nim snatched the cowl out of his hands and vanished, leaving the two nobles alone in the empty hall.

In her trembling fist, Milona clutched her husband's wedding ring. She glared at the stranger before her and fought back the second onslaught of tears welling in her eyes with a hard swallow. Corvus reached out to grasp his wife's hand once more but she recoiled at the first contact of his skin and took off for the staircase. Corvus followed behind her, kneeling at the foot of the staircase as he watched his wide ascend much more defeated than he had anticipated.

Nim watched from the shadows as Corvus shook his head, his eyes went wide in disbelief. In all of his time scrying with Savilla's stone, he must not have forseen this outcome.


	16. Anvil Anxieties

**Chapter 16: Anvil Anxieties**

Nim walked briskly from the castle toward the city, only stopping to peer out across the mercurial ocean waters when she reached the bridge connecting the castle district to the eastern gate. She glared over the edge of the stone blocks and met her reflection with a quivering pout and an exasperated shriek.

She had been deceived. She had been granted ownership of a vile, cursed Daedric artifact. More than anything, she had been deprived of sleep for nearly two days.

After quickly realizing the attention she brought to herself, she cast her invisibility spell and sprinted home before a castle guard came to check on the loud cry. Once home, she ran straight up the winding stairs and launched the cowl against the wall of her bedroom. She threw herself onto the bed and wept silently, too drained of energy to call forth tears.

The house was void of light and quiet save the soft flutter of her new curtains swaying in and out by a draft entering the cracked window.

 _Why is it that I let everyone use me? How did I bring this ill-fate upon myself again?_

Nim thought of her journey to Skingrad in the fall of last year. The Council had willingly sent her into a trap with no forewarning. If she was less skilled in combat, she would likely be dead at the hands of Mercator and his necromancer friends. Only Raminus apologized afterwards. If she died on that mission, it was clear that her loss would not have been mourned. And yet she returned to the University readily serving the Council despite the sense of betrayal. It was only a matter of time before they did it again.

Nim closed her eyes against her down-pillow. Velwyn had no qualms about selling her this blighted manor. She was bouncing from one curse to another. As if a haunted house was not enough, now her soul was tainted. How did possession of this cowl affect her spirit? Was she bound to Nocturnal if she wore a mask imbued with the blood of the Daedric Prince? She had tried to leave dark magics behind her, yet there it sat, blue runes glowing in the corner of her room.

She had tried so hard to change for the better over the past two years. She had found an honest occupation, strived for the pursuit of knowledge, built friendships based on mutual interests that did not include pick-pocketing and robbing stores. And now that this evil presence had entered her life, what could she do? Become the Guildmaster? She couldn't remember the last heist she done for pleasure rather than the Gray Fox's demands!

Despite the love she held in her heart for the Nine and the little good she had done to help others in need, at her core Nim knew was still a thief, still a swindler. She worshiped in vain. The Nine saw her sin. How could she have fooled herself into ever thinking she had given up a morally bankrupt life?

Maybe Fathis was right. She would always fall back to manipulation tactics if they worked to her benefit. She was no different from Corvus in that sense, and no amount of mental acrobatics or penance would wash her free of her wicked thoughts. Mephala's lessons held true through the years and she'd remain with that black mark until her corporeal form passed on.

* * *

By morning, Nim was a feeling slightly less weighted down by the blanket of self-pity that dragged her into slumber the afternoon before. The dream-less sleep did well for mental clarity, but she remained as unsure as ever about what to do with the cowl in her bedroom. For the moment, she threw it into her trunk and pushed it beneath her bed with the other unmentionables she had begun to horde. After brewing a cup of coffee, she wandered out to her balcony to replace the plate of mud-crab meat that she often left out for the neighborhood cats.

Now after keeping up the habit for a few weeks she was getting a couple of regular visitors. One orange cat with white socks and a scabbed right ear. A tortoise shell with multi-colored eyes and a fearsome hiss. A black cat with a piercing yellow glare that rubbed its head into her palm whenever she made an appearance. Nim was most fond of that one. Sometimes that cat would sit on her lap and purr as she read a book. Nim appreciated the affection and eventually let the cat wander inside her home when she was present. She liked to pretend something loved her every now and then.

Rather than enroll in another session of classes at the University along with the other first-year students, Nim formally accepted Carahil's earlier offer of an apprenticeship to study illusion. Carahil seemed confused when Nim brought it up to her again. She had assumed that Nim's relocation to the Gold Coast was solely for the purpose of this new training regime. Nim didn't have the heart to correct her.

She was a Magician now, and while it wasn't uncommon for Mages who had advanced this far to take an apprenticeship with high-ranking leaders of other guild halls, most Magicians at the Arcane University were second or third-year students. Nim had moved through the ranks swiftly and kept mostly to herself. Her introverted demeanor was cast in ill light by the members of her cohort who interpreted her reservations as aloofness.

 _Egoistical. Self-absorbed. She thinks she's the Gods gift to creation just because she slayed a necromancer._

She heard how the first-years whispered her name amongst themselves. Now that she was removed from all the chatter and gossip, she couldn't care less. In fact, she was a little surprised they thought anything of her at all.

Among her cohort, only Chee-tul, a promising Argonian of the Conjurer rank, had secured an apprenticeship with a mentor at another guild chapter. In Skingrad, she believed. Nim wished she had spoken to him more. They took many of the same classes and she had always admired his confidence and stoic expression. Her brief time at the University was filled with solitude when she wasn't pestering Bothiel, Raminus, or Irlav. None of them were here now. Only the solitude remained.

Since uprooting to Anvil, Nim sadly discovered that her fellow mages in the local chapter were not nearly as experienced drinkers as her housemates on the Waterfront had been. After throwing a few beers back with Thaurron on a sleepy Loredas afternoon, she learned that his tamed Imp, Sparky, had a much higher tolerance for alcohol then the bosmer Mage himself. After many lonely weekends splayed out in front of the lobby fireplace with a bottle of wine and a volumes II through IV of _A Brief History of the Empire_ , Nim had decided she would find a drinking buddy in this town and if it was the beggar down the street then so be it!

Eventually, she made her way down to the dock to explore the taverns where the sea farers spent their evenings while docked in Anvil. Carahil had warned her against it, claiming that all the bars on the dock smelled just like you would imagine a sailor who hadn't bathed in a few months might smell. Instead, the Altmer suggested the Counts Arms, a much more respectable establishment for a young mage. Nim had spent the past few weeks trying to perfect a 60 second invisibility spell without ever having reached the 45 second mark. She was hoping to toss back a few pints of mead and fight someone, not sit still and be respectable.

The dock was lined with small, splintered wooden buildings that sometimes appeared to lean with the blowing wind off the Abecean sea and as she walked along the marina, she could hear shouting and roar of sea shanties from the sailors and the pretty tavern wenches that clung to their arms inside at anytime of day.

Nim would slip her way past the crowds at the bar with a bottle of ale and sit in the corner to watch the sailors swear at one another and beat each other bloody over a slurred insult about someone's mother's sexual escapades. She became fast friends with the sailors, the pirates, even the gang of attractive woman that robbed men blind in the night. The inside of the Flowing Bowl smelled of salt-water and the metallic twinge of blood. Nimileth loved it.

While waiting for her next assignment from Traven, Nim spent the majority of her free time refurbishing her home. She spent a good portion of the evenings pouring through furniture catalogues and rearranging her study to fit all the shelves she purchased for her books, alchemy equipment, and jars labeled to hold each type of ingredient. She spent early mornings praying at the Chapel of Dibella and working in her garden to remove weeds and gnarled roots. She planted fresh vegetables, berries, and saplings in the crisp sea breeze before the heat of the afternoon sun drove her inside.

In only a few weeks, her skin had begun to tan a deep brown like clay-rich soil and cinnamon sticks. The color reminded her of earlier years, memories filled by long swims in the Panther River with the other women in her coven, J'rasha sunbathing beside her on the shore of the Topal Bay, the humid streets of Leyawiin as she darted along looting the pockets of unsuspecting shoppers.

* * *

Second Seed had come and gone. No word from Traven arrived. The silence from the Arcane University grew unsettling. Though she made great use of the new-found freedom from classes, Nim was becoming anxious.

She had expected to be diving head-first into new research on the necromancer's practices by now, perhaps starting with Lorgren Benirus' _Tome of Unlife_ before it was sent to its permanent storage in the university archives. The Council had been willing to follow her hunch when it came to investigating the source of the black soul gems at the Dark Fissure. What was with the delay now?

 _Has the Council forgotten about me?_

She wondered whether another mage was being sent on _her_ assignments now that she was no longer a sleeping quarter away.

 _Was I only ever a convenient option for them?_

Or perhaps the Council finally had enough with her relentless criticism and impingement on their plans. Now that she was off University grounds, they could wash their hands of her and return to twiddling their thumbs and burying their heads in the sand.

The days flew by. Nim was not called upon. She was no longer anxious. She was angry.

To further fuel her irritable mood, she had been experiencing horrible dreams and nights rife with insomnia. She attributed her sleeplessness to the presence of the sinister cowl beneath her bed. Ever since her first vision from Mephala when she was nearly ten, Nim was extremely sensitive to Daedric magic. She awoke in cold sweats after dreams of falling endlessly down the chimney chute as she escaped the Imperial Palace. As though watching from above, she'd see both her small body and the elder scroll in her arms combust into a pillar of flame until only a cloud of ash remained and drifted down amongst the darkness.

The lack of sleep left her drained physically and mentally. She'd been plagued by spells of throbbing headaches and wondered if her brief glimpse of the Elder Scroll had indeed cursed her. Perhaps she had glimpsed a forbidden knowledge that was now attempting to claim her sight like it did the blind priests.

For a few days, she could concentrate on her spells for only an hour at a time before the aches returned. The pain was maddening. She felt her will and mettle begin to crack. A break loomed on the horizon.

The final straw came in the form an article of _The Black Horse Courier_ she had picked up from the market.

 _Count Umbranox – Returned!_ She read the title with a pounding migraine. Corvus had weaseled his way back into the Anvil court and into Milona's arms unpunished. In Milona's own words, his reappearance could only be attributed to _divine intervention. A miracle._ They played it off as though he had been kidnapped by marauders on the border of Valenwood. Corvus, vowing to return to his beloved wife, had finally escaped. An act of true love and heroism. Nim wanted to retch.

"You blasted rat," she cursed to herself as she paced across the upper floor of her home. "You lie to me, you lie to the papers, but I know the dirty sload you are. You can't come in and taint my city with your presence! You can't shove your duties onto me and parade around as nobility!"

Thoughts of the cowl and its mystical powers danced across her frontal lobe. It called to her from beneath the bed. _Wear me_ it seemed to whisper through her addled mind.

"I'll show you a divine intervention," Nim mumbled as she dug through the trunk.

She stared at the hideous grey thing. Its runes flashed in waves as she turned it in the light. She _knew_ that if she slipped It over her head the pain would be lifted. The cowl wanted her to put it on. She laid it on her dresser to face her as she lay in bed. After one more sleepless night, she obeyed. Her world went black.

* * *

When Nim came to, she was standing in a dark room peering down at two unclothed imperials through hooded eyes. A man and a woman lay next to each other with a blanket of cream-colored silk draped loosely across their bodies. They slept soundly, blissfully unaware of her presence lurking above. She watched as their aura rose and fell with slow breaths. Her hand clutched the hilt of her dagger.

Nim bit her tongue to keep from shrieking as she stumbled backwards. When had she entered this room? Gazing around, she recognized it as the private quarters of Castle Anvil from when she had snuck through to Dairihil's office before. She pressed her hand to her face and felt the leather hide of Nocturnal's cowl beneath her fingertips. She didn't remember putting it on.

A groan and rustle of sheets drew her attention to the sleeping Count and Countess. What would they do if they her standing here with her hands on her blade? Nim moved swiftly across the room to the balcony door, as a _jingle jangle_ and _clink clank_ of metal sounded off her person. She reached behind her to feel the pack on her shoulders and noted that leather was stretched to full capacity. _Strange_ , she thought. It didn't feel like she was carrying much at all.

Nim gripped the handle of the balcony door and cast Night-Eye, preparing to enter the night and get the hell out of the Countess's private chamber. She took one glance back, trying to will herself to remember how she had arrived here. The scene that lay before her brought a jolt of surprise.

The doors of the wardrobes and drawers of the dressers were wide open, their contents strewn across the tile floor. Books and plates, scrolls and pelts, quills and baskets of yarn and cloth, all were scattered around her. The tapestries and curtains on the wall were torn to shreds, and many ornate wooden frames hung around her void of pictures. Had she thrown the room into shambles without waking anyone?

Startled by the chaos of the room and the coursing adrenaline, Nim quickly fled the bedroom and scaled down the side of the balcony, clinging to the thick vines rooted into the grooves between the brick. She returned home and let her bloated pack fall to the floor of the foyer behind her as she secured all three of the locks on her front door. She slipped the cowl off her head and breathed a sigh of relief when the headache did not come flooding back. With a snap of her fingers, she called forth a flame to light the wall sconces on the entryway. Once more, the state of disarray in the surrounding room shocked her.

On the floor of her living room lay bundles of rugs, decorative clay urns, rolled up paintings, pelts, silver carafes – Nim froze.

 _Where in Oblivion did these come from? Did I-_

She looked down to her hand and found the cowl staring back. Nim shivered and she dropped it to the floor as she rubbed her temples. She sat down on bench in front of the empty fire placed and slowed her breathing.

 _Think._

Closing her eyes, she retraced her steps. _Home, newspaper, bedroom, trunk_. She had put on the cowl, slipping into a fugue state that led her trapezing off to Castle Anvil. She concentrated harder, recalling her movements as she traversed the narrow halls of the castles hidden passages. _Castle, smithy, secret passage, royal quarters. Loot. Repeat. Loot. Repeat._

"Okay," she said to herself with a small nod as she gazed around at all her stolen possessions. It began to make sense, though she wasn't sure how many trips it took her to get all of these items into her house. More confusing was the thought that she accomplished it without being seen by anyone. But even if she had been seen, the cowl concealed her true identity. Nim was unsettled to find that fact gave her comfort.

She leaned down to unroll one of the rugs out of curiosity. Lavish was the first word that came to her mind. Hand-woven silk with wool fringe. Even in her fugue state she had good taste.

She dragged her pack across the floor to join the other piles of loot, finding It much heavier now than when she donned the cowl. Inside she found books, velvet garments, a handful of precious gemstones, and an entire jewelry box still locked.

"Okay," she said again. Many emotions blipped about in her mind.

 _Pride?_ No, this was the work of an enchanted cowl, not her own prowess as a thief. There was no way she could lug all of this across town without magical aid. _Guilt_? No, they were merely material wealth. The Countess and her beloved husband could always buy more. _Concern?_ Would the Corvus come looking for her? _Shame?_ She was giving into the sinful ways of the daedra once more.

She smirked to herself as she ran her fingers down the leather spine of _The Waters of Oblivion_. An overwhelming part of her was satisfied. So sickly satisfied.

Nim decided she would keep it. All of it. There was not much else you could reasonably do with a house full of stolen goods A house warming present to herself, but the cowl had to leave. She did not appreciate the power it granted and the recklessness with which she used it. This is exactly what she had tried to tell Corvus – it was a not a strength she would use for the benefit of others, only abuse for her personal gain.

She had to get it out of her house and off her person. The memory-loss, the sleepless nights, the carelessness, and grand theft - This was not the person she wanted to be! She would take it to the Waterfront, to the Garden of Dareloth where she would pass it on to Armand Christophe. She had always admired the Doyen's leadership and knew without a doubt he would make a fine guildmaster, orders of magnitudes better than Nim could ever hope to be. After she handed off this cursed artifact, she planned to embark on a pilgrimage to refine her values. Her soul had been feeling very heavy these days, and though her new treasures had certainly lifted her spirits, she wasn't sure this was the kind of lifting she needed in her life right now.

Nim looked around at the mess she had made and tutted. She was perplexed and not entirely unpleasantly surprised. The paintings she had swiped were gorgeous, Rythe Lythandas originals no less! She made a mental note to put in an order for five new frames and slept blissfully for the first time in weeks.


	17. The Apathy in a Well Placed Arrow

**Chapter 17: The Apathy in a Well-Place Arrow**

Nim sat with her feet in a shallow pool at the edge of the Great Forest south of Chorrol. She was half-way into a week-long spiritual cleanse before she was to leave the wilderness for the Imperial City. While she loved her new manor and although it was looking scores better now than it had just a month prior, the sudden focus on material possession was weighing heavily on Nim. All this waiting for a letter from Traven, the talk of necromancers without any active movement, the rush of stealing she felt compelled to satisfy, and the lingering thoughts of Raminus were not conducive to her productivity.

She'd face them all soon enough. But for now she prayed in silence.

She had been travelling in search of Wayshrines and inner peace, a reconnection to Kynareth's fertile lands and Cyrodiil's natural beauty. Her path took her north of the Gold Coast and through the imperial reserve where she had prayed at a shrine of Mara and Arkay. She marked them off on her map.

Nim spent the previous night at the humble farmhouse of her two close friends, Guilbert and Reynald Jemane. She had met Reynald while having a somber, defeated drink in Chorrol on the night Teekus had first turned down her application to join the Mages Guild. The drunk Breton offered to pick up her tab as long as she sent a message to the fellow trading on his name in Cheydinhal. As it turned out, the doppleganger he had heard about was his twin brother and they were united at last all thanks to Nim. Though she hadn't been out to visit in many moons, they always welcomed her with open arms.

Weatherleah, the Jemane's homestead, was nestled between two crumbling shrines, one of Julianos and one of Kynareth. Having gotten an early start on her next objective, Nim took the late afternoon to relax among the quiet woods and breathe deeply. The air was fragrant with moss that grew from the moist soil and coated rocks around her. She laid against the bank of the pond with her bare feet sinking into its fine mud and listened for the call of the cat-birds in the branches of the sugar maple above.

The yellow glow of the sun peeking through the canopy warmed her eyelids as she held them shut against its rays. She focused her minds eye on the rustle of the fauna through the underbrush. A lizard or two in a territorial dispute, a rabbit scurrying back to its burrow. This calm she felt embrace her could never be recreated by illusion magic. Hours could have passed and Nim would not have known. She sighed.

As twilight fell across the sky, Nim skirted closer to the forest edge near the Black Road. She was looking for spiritual retreat, not looking to get herself killed. There were bandits and trolls about in these parts, and she had heard the rumors from Seed-Neeus in Chorrol that strange town of isolated denizens occupied these woods. Nim did not care to meet them tonight.

The sound of hooves against the cobblestone alerted her to approaching travelers. She dove behind a dense patch of privet and laid on her stomach as she peered out on to the road. Her heart skipped as the travelling party grew closer.

There, riding a white steed, was Countess Alessia Caro. She was accompanied by her hand-maiden, Hildara Mothril, and flanked by two guards in iron cuirasses that bore the crest of Leyawiin County. Nim's blood turned electric as the Countess's face became clearer.

She hadn't seen the woman in nearly three years, not since she watched her smug smirk amongst the rows of Leyawiin's citizens at J'rasha's trial. Gruesome memories of her lover's dead body left to rot in torture chambers of the castle invaded her mind.

 _The room was red. The floor, the walls. All of it streaked by bloodied handprints whose owners last screams would echo against the stained stone for time immemorable. She spied J'rasha's body in the corner beneath another Khajiit, one she did not know, one who would never be claimed or seen again. Evidence of her lover's torture remained all around him._

 _His index and middle finger, cleaved from his left hand, carelessly strewn across the floor of the dungeon. The fangs and bloody forceps on the table nearby. She ran to him and threw herself across his remains. For the remainder of her days she would remember the feel of him like this. The fur of his forehead, matted with dried blood, against her cheek as she held him and wept. His cold, rigid body pressed against her small frame as she willed it to return to her, as she begged Arkay to breathe life into him once more if only just to say goodbye._

And here rode the woman responsible for all the death in that room, for all the innocent lives now withering away in the dungeons of Castle Leyawiin. How could she continue her existence unhaunted by her crimes? Nim's heart collapsed and shattered all over again as the Countess's party passed by. Watching her breathe was an insult to J'rasha's memory.

Nim's hands were moving into action before she had registered the motion. Her long copper-hair was now up in a loose bun at the back of her head as she slipped the Gray Cowl over her head and cast invisibility. She strung her bow as she stalked along-side the road behind the thick vegetation. Only five hunting arrows remained in her quiver. They were legionnaire steel that she had stolen from the Northwest guard tower in the Imperial city, tipped with a poison of drain fatigue to prevent her prey from escaping. None of that mattered now. If Nim was equipped with only a length of twine, the Countess would still not live to see another day.

She let her arrow fly. It struck Alessia Caro in the side of her neck. The Countess choked back a scream as she lurched forward in the saddle. Nim shot again and ran forward. Refreshing her invisibility spell, she stepped into the road just close enough to watch the Countess's face contort in shock. It was streaked with blood as a red trail flowed across her pale skin from her mouth and the wounds in her neck. Hildara Mothril screamed as her horse lifted its forelegs off the ground and took off running down the road. One of the guards ran to the Countess, carrying her body down from the horse. The other drew his sword and prepared himself for a fight.

Nim could not hear the shouting over the thrum of blood racing in her ears. She stepped closer, closer, closer until the Countess's head was right at her feet. The woman gasped and sputtered below. Her eyes, brown as a red oak's bark, were wide in shock. Nim touched the neck of the guard beside Alessia and released a paralyze spell. She gave him a shove and he fell forward onto his face. Nim directed her next shot at the wandering guard with his weapon drawn who's back was fortunately turned to her.

She wondered if the Countess knew she was about to die, if the terror of her nonexistence was realized. Was Alessia praying to the Nines to forgive her? In these final moments before the darkness consumed her, was she sorry for anything she had done?

Nim reached down and pressed two fingers to the Countess's lips. Her blood was thick and warm as she rolled it between her fingers. Down the road, Hildara had finally regained control of her horse. The Altmer dismounted and came sprinting toward the Countess's body. Falling to her knees, Hildara cast a blue light of restoration magic over Alessia's body. Nim stepped back into the forest and watched through the eyes of the cowl as the Countess's aura dimmed.

* * *

Splitting the skin of her cheek open on the thorns of berry bushes and jagged tips of shrubs, Nim sprinted through the forests of Chorrol with fresh blood drying on her fingertips. She didn't stop until she reached the Waterfront District. Under the cloak of nightfall, the Bosmer slouched against a tree across from the abandoned shack and stared into her pack. Her hands trembled as she sifted through her belongings. The gray cowl stared back at her. Nocturnal could not have intended its use for this. The blue runes running along the eye sockets shimmered in the moonlight as though winking at her.

 _The bitch was slain,_ she whispered. She would by lying through her teeth if it did not please her. _And a witch remains._

For the first time, she had taken a life not in self-defense. Alessia Caro was a vile woman, but she was not a necromancer or a bandit. She was a noble woman, a _Countess._ The roads would be swarming with legion guards by now, all looking for her. Alessia Caro was not a skooma runner. But she was not an innocent.

Nim thought she'd have felt something by now. Regret, disgust, at least a sense of unease. She thought she would have retched or dry heaved or cried out to the Nine to take her miserable life now before she harms anyone one else on Nirn. All she felt was the sting of thin cuts along her face and an empty churning in her gut. The indifference was almost worse than shame.

Nim stood to her feet and kicked the dirt furiously, choking back a scream as she envisioned strangling herself and then Count of Anvil.

This was the recklessness she had been wary of after donning the cowl for the first night. This was exactly the kind of power she feared would fall into the wrong hands. She had tried to tell Corvus. There were far worthier thieves with experience in leadership to take possession of the cowl. Such a powerful artifact should be returned to the Daedra, not passed between the hands of men to steal shiny trinkets and slink in the shadows. No one knew she was in possession of it, not Armand, not Methredehl, not Amusei, and no one had to know if that's what she decided on.

She had stolen a life with it. Not a soul, but the spark of the flesh.

Oblivion take her, she'd cast it into the fire and everyone would assume the immortal Gray Fox was finally laid to rest. She took a few deep breaths to soothe the bloodlust raging within her. Killing Corvus wouldn't change her situation in the slightest. Cowl or not, she knew it wasn't the Gray Fox who had fired the arrow into the throat of Alessia Caro, and the Gods knew it too.

Nim turned to Lake Rumare and undressed down to her underclothes. She shivered violently from the surge of adrenaline. A gust of Mid-Year wind lifted off the water and passed over her. She dipped her head below the surface. The frigid water of Lake Rumare was certainly no better than standing near naked on the beach. She scrubbed her arms, her legs, her face until she felt the skin tingly raw and abraded. After 10 minutes, she emerged blood-free and blue in the lips but satisfied with her cleansing.

She had no doubt that there would be a party looking for her within the next few hours but knowing that evil woman would never again take pleasure in the torture of 'lesser races' set her thoughts at ease.

Nim took a large green cloak from her pack and wrapped it around her body as she made her way to Methredehl's door. The dark-haired Bosmer answered and immediately pulled her friend inside upon seeing the dripping girl's colorless face.

"What on Nirn? Get in here, you lunatic!"

Nim didn't need to be told twice. She ran toward the fireplace and sent a large burst of flame shooting from her palms. She sat down on the floor as close to the fire as she could without catching her cloak aflame. Methredhel took a seat beside her on a small wooden stool and offered her friend a blanket and half a bottle wine. Nim took both gratefully.

"Should I ask?"

"Give me a few minutes. I can't feel my lips."

* * *

Nim stayed in the Imperial City for two days and by the end, she felt much more herself. Even better than she did before leaving Anvil, she realized. Was it the fresh air of the Great Forest? Her truncated pilgrimage and self reflection? Was it whispers of Alessia Caro's death passing through the lips of the city-dwellers wherever she turned?

Whatever it was, Nim proceeded on with her life without so much of a blink, as though the entire incident had been a simple blip. The apathy alarmed her at first. Was she repressing her guilt?

Once or twice as she lay awake at night, she had imagined what both her and Alessia Caro's life would have been like had she chosen to swallow her seething anger and let it bubble and spit in the base of her belly for the rest of her days. Nim imagined herself sitting in one of the pews of the Chapel of Zenithar, watching as Marus and Alessia Caro strolled through the grey stone rows, perhaps with a fat, young child waddling in front of them and a pair of guards close behind. They'd pray at the altar and call themselves good Gods-fearing men before returning to their secret dungeons to torture another soul guilty only of being born the wrong race. Well, she'd be miserable in that life, she conceded, and thus she slept each night with great ease.

Good men, bad men, everyone dies, she told herself. _Why burden myself with regret?_ It wasn't her first kill, only the first one she had committed without being provoked into a fight. And quite frankly, It was best the Countess got what was coming before she had the opportunity to strike again. She had done Cyrodiil a favor. They should be _thanking_ her.

While in the Imperial city, Nim decided to meet with Armand to see how her favorite doyen was doing, and more importantly, to see if he had received word from Corvus informing him of a change in leadership. From what she gathered through experience, the Gray Fox seemed to lead from afar, only calling on individuals when he had specific self-serving reason. The guild was fairly autonomous and Armand was more than capable of running the local chapters without the aid of daedric magic.

She still wasn't sure of the power the cowl granted it's wearer. Was it safe to pass off? Did it know who was worth?

Although she wasn't rejecting the role of guild leader, Nim didn't feel right about disclosing the nature of her new appointment. Maybe she'd check in next month. Maybe planning a heist here or there wouldn't be so hard. It's just that… nothing seemed particularly worthy of stealing anymore. The thrill of slinking across the shadows, listening for the rattle of the tumblers in a locked door, and running off with a shiny new trinket had dulled compared to what she felt out on the Black Road. What had robbed her of her drive?

Methredhel had mentioned making a trip up to Bruma to off load some loot onto Ognar. Nim decided she would tag along. From there, she'd head south-west to her home in Anvil, passing Chorrol to say hi to Teekus and stopping by the Jemane brothers for a second visit. They were running low on soap and thread earlier that week. She'd be sure to pick some up for them along the way

Nim certainly preferred the privacy and extra space of living on her own, but she was still a social animal. She liked the idea of being old and surrounded by people to share strong drink and rich stories with. Best she started building and maintaining extensive networks when she was young. The whole trip would only take a few days, a week at most if she went out of her way to stop at the nearest way shrines or hunt for mushrooms along each stop. Maybe a little bit longer if she decided to murder anymore countesses.


	18. Go Now with Sithis

**Chapter 18: Go Now with Sithis**

"A new sister has been born," Ungolim said flatly as he sipped from his tankard. He nodded to the speaker across the table. "You'll find this one amusing."

Lucien cocked his head with curious smile. "What makes you say so?"

"She murdered the Countess of Leyawiin."

Lucien's grin widened. He leaned forward in anticipation. The news hadn't yet broke, and it's not every day a county ruler is assassinated. He remembered when Uriel Septim and all of his heirs were killed two years ago. Now that was a day worthy of discussion.

Ungolim responded with a stern and steady gaze. He cleared his throat.

"A young Bosmer named Nimileth. Find her in the city of Anvil. Now, excuse me."

Ungolim stood and began clearing his dining table of cups and bottles, leaving only a roll of leather that held a steel knife and gut-hook. He lugged a dead doe from the entryway across the floor of his shack and hoisted it up onto the table. Ignoring Lucien's lingering presence in the room, he cut a slit along the length of its belly as he prepared it for dressing.

Lucien remained in his seat, watching the blood begin a slow trickle down Ungolim's arm as he worked. It dripped from his elbow and onto the floor.

"You're a tease, dear Listener. Surely the Night Mother told you more than that."

"That's for me to know, Lucien. For you to find out. Go now with Sithis."

And Lucien did.


End file.
